“Cat got your tongue, old chap?”

I racked my brain for anything that might tie Willy to the bomber, and I came up empty. Until I remembered Eric Nielsen. Eric the Red’s notebook.

“You’re not making this any fun, Dan,” said Chhotu. “Try to get into the spirit of things.”

“Eric Nielsen,” I said, and Chhotu’s smile faded. “He interviewed Bikas long before I did.”

Chhotu and Bikas waited for more.

“He left notes,” I continued. “About meetings with Bikas and the university girls he chased after. And …”

“And what?”

“He suddenly decided to quit and go home, shortly after attending one of Willy’s cocktail parties.”

Chhotu had recovered from the surprise Eric Nielsen’s name had inspired.

“To be perfectly accurate, Nielsen didn’t so much go home as go away.”

“You killed him?”

Chhotu blinked but kept quiet.

I thought hard. “Eric was settled here in Bombay. He liked his work. Then, one day, Willy threatened him. Eric must have figured out the link to Bikas.”

“Not bad, Dan. But I already know the story.”

The connections came into focus. Bikas wasn’t a revolutionary terrorist. He hadn’t killed that CID officer for political reasons. And if he worked for Willy, Willy must have ordered it. Why? Willy’s “import-export” business, obviously. Was the cop investigating him? Getting too close? But why the charade of Bikas and the Marxist angle? And why would Bikas talk to Nielsen? To me? He couldn’t be that stupid.

“Stumped, Dan?”

“Bikas killed the cop and tried to throw suspicion on leftists,” I said. “Get it in the papers that terrorists assassinated Gokhale. That’s why Bikas agreed to talk to Nielsen. And to me. But Nielsen was a sharp guy. Somehow he figured it out. Maybe Bikas didn’t strike him as a Marxist. And then he got himself invited to Willy’s party. Probably said too much, and …”

“We couldn’t trust him to go away quietly,” said Chhotu, finishing my thought. “Poor chap. And, of course, when you started hunting for Bikas at the university, Willy wanted to know what you were up to.”

“That’s why he invited me to his party.”

“I advised him to get rid of you the same way we did Nielsen. But, strangest thing. He took a liking to you.”

Bikas was still standing guard by the door.

“Now, Danny Boy,” said Chhotu, “if you would be so good as to hand over that roll of film you shot of our friend Bikas. Willy wanted him to talk to you, not pose for portraits. He was quite angry when you told him about that at one of his parties. But our Bikas sometimes makes foolish decisions. Let’s have it.”

“I don’t have the film,” I said.

“Must we play games? I want the film now.”

“And then you murder me? No thanks.”