Free The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II by Satyajit Ray Page A

your room, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes. In fact, I saw Nishith Bose leave with his luggage through that lane. This did not surprise me at the time, for he was expected to leave for Calcutta, anyway.’
    ‘Really? Why?’
    ‘His mother was seriously ill. He received a telegram the other day.’
    ‘Did you see this telegram?’
    ‘Yes, so did Mr Sen.’
    ‘Why, he didn’t say anything about it!’ Feluda sounded surprised. ‘Well . . . now, what can I say? You’ve seen for yourself the state he’s in. He’s destined to suffer. Who can change what’s ordained?’
    ‘Have you examined Mr Sen’s future as well?’ Lalmohan Babu asked anxiously.
    ‘There are very few people in this town who haven’t come to me. But do you know what the problem is? I cannot always tell people what I see. I open my mouth if I see symptoms of an illness. But howis it possible to say to someone things like: you’ll one day commit a murder, or you’ll go to prison, or you’ll be hanged? No one will ever want to come to me if I told them such unpleasant things. So I have to choose my words very carefully because people wish to hear only good things.’
    Mr Bhattacharya went off in the direction of the sea. We moved on towards Sagarika. It looked beautiful in the early morning sun.
    ‘The house of death,’ Lalmohan Babu said suddenly.
    ‘How can you say that?’ Feluda protested. ‘You might call it the house of theft, but there hasn’t been a death in this house.’
    ‘No, no. I don’t mean Sagarika,’ Lalmohan Babu explained hastily. ‘I mean this other house that looks like it might collapse any minute.’
    We had seen this house before, but hadn’t really noticed it in any detail. Sagarika was about thirty yards away from it. Now I looked at it carefully, and found myself agreeing with Lalmohan Babu. As it is, an old and crumbling building with damp, dank walls isn’t a very pleasant sight. This building, in addition to all that, had sunk into the sand. Nearly six feet from the bottom was buried in the sand. This gave it a rather spooky air. I felt my flesh creep to look at it in broad daylight. What must it look like at night?
    Instead of walking past it, Feluda walked into it today. The pillars of the front gate were still standing upright. There was a cracked and dirty marble slab that said ‘Bhujanga Niwas’. If the house kept sinking, it wouldn’t be long before the slab was submerged in sand. Beyond the gate there must once have been a small garden. A series of steps then led to a veranda. Only the top two steps were visible; others had disappeared in the sand. The railing around the veranda had worn away. It was surprising that the roof had not caved in. The room behind the veranda must have been a drawing room.
    ‘It doesn’t look totally abandoned,’ Feluda remarked. I saw immediately why he had said that, for, on the dusty floor of the veranda, were footprints.
    ‘And there are matchsticks, Feluda!’ I said. There were three matchsticks lying by a pillar.
    ‘Yes, I guess if you tried to light a cigarette standing here in this strong wind, you’d be bound to waste a few,’ Feluda replied.
    We walked in through the gate. I was bursting with curiosity to go and find out what was inside the house. The door to the drawing room was open, rattling in the wind. Feluda inspected the prints onthe floor. They were not very clear, for a fresh layer of sand had already settled over them. But there was no doubt that someone wearing shoes had walked on this veranda pretty recently.
    Another thing became visible as Feluda removed some of the sand with his foot—a dark stain, which to me looked like paan juice. Lalmohan Babu, however, quickly stepped back and declared it had to be blood. Then he muttered something about it being time for breakfast. This clearly meant he had no wish to go into the house and would much rather go back to the hotel. I felt my own heart beating faster, partly in excitement and partly in fear.