The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II by Satyajit Ray

the twelfth century. How was I to know that that was the only thing Laxman Bhattacharya had in his hand to strike a person with? I couldn’t figure it out, despite being hit by the same wooden bars. The scroll was bloodstained. Some of that blood got smeared on my own head. Naturally, you could not pass it on to either Sarkar or Hingorani.’
    ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no!’ cried D.G. Sen, covering his face with his hands. ‘My manuscript! My most precious, my very—’
    ‘Listen, Mr Sen,’ Feluda turned to him. ‘Did you know that the sea doesn’t always accept what’s offered to it? In fact, sometimes, it returns an offering almost immediately?’
    Feluda slipped a hand into his shoulder bag and, almost like a magician, brought out a manuscript covered in red silk.
    ‘Here is your
Ashtadashasahasrika Pragya Paramita.
The silk wrapper is quite unharmed. The wooden bars have been damaged, but the actual writing is more or less unspoilt. Not much water could seep in through layers of wood and cloth.’
    ‘But. . . but . . . where did you get it, Felu Babu?’ Lalmohan Babu gasped.
    ‘You saw that piece of red silk this morning,’ Feluda replied. ‘That little Nulia boy called Ramai was wearing it round his head. It made me think. That’s why I went to the Nulia colony and retrieved it. Ramai had found the scroll stuck in the wet sand near the edge of the water. He took the silk wrapper, but the manuscript was kept safe inhis house. I had to pay ten rupees to get it. Mr Mahapatra, will you please get Sarkar’s wallet and give me ten rupees from it?’
    I had no idea the sea looked so much more enormous from the terrace of Mr Sen’s house. I stood near the railing, marvelling at the sight.
    Last night, after the police had left with the two culprits, Mr Sen had invited us for morning coffee. Mahim Sen had spent the night with his father, since Nishith Bose was dead and the servant had run away. On hearing this, Feluda offered immediately to speak to Shyamlal Barik of our hotel and arrange for a new servant. The cook brought us coffee on the terrace.
    By this time, Mr Sen had handed a cheque to Feluda. The amount on it was so handsome that it made up for all the weeks Feluda had spent at home before coming to Puri. Initially, Feluda had refused to accept it, but when Mr Sen began to insist, he had to take it. Lalmohan Babu said to him later, ‘If you didn’t take that cheque, Felu babu, I would have hit you with a blunt instrument. Why do you turn all modest and humble when you’re offered payment? I find it most annoying!’
    ‘Do you know, Mr Sen,’ said Feluda, sipping his coffee, ‘what baffled me the most? It was your gout.’
    Mr Sen raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? What’s so baffling about that? Can’t an old man get gout?’
    ‘Yes, but you go for long walks on the beach, don’t you? I saw your footprints on the sand but, like an idiot, thought they were Majumdar’s—I mean, Sarkar’s. But yesterday, I realized it was you.’
    ‘So what did that prove? Gout is extremely painful, but the pain does sometimes subside, you know.’
    ‘I’m sure it does. But your footprints tell a different story, Mr Sen. I didn’t raise this last night because I thought you wanted to keep it a secret. The trouble is, you see, it isn’t always possible to keep secrets from an investigator. The stick you use is pretty significant, isn’t it? Besides, your shoes aren’t both of the same size. I noticed that.’
    Mr Sen sat in silence, looking straight at Feluda. Feluda resumed speaking. ‘The Veer Hospital in Kathmandu confirmed the news about Bilas Majumdar’s accident. But no one else had been brought there with similar injuries. Then I looked at my guide book and realized that there was another hospital called Shanta Bhavan inPatan, which is near Kathmandu. I rang them, and was told that one Durga Gati Sen had been brought there with severe injuries in October last year. He remained there until early January.