“But, sir, we have no fish … we’re in the jewelry …”

“Oh-ho, these are all riddles, don’t you see? You must solve them. When I say businessman, I mean a man of possessions and property, a man of plots and plans, a man taking a bit of time to get over the death-shock. But, at the very most, I give him a year and a half … then he’ll be free. Zoom about in glee. Oh, such are these mysterious ways!”

“So, what should we do now?”

“You? Nothing. Focus on the business. But yes, he has that worry about the land.”

“Land?”

“Yes, yes, land. Says he’s very concerned, very unhappy. Is there something fishy about it?”

“Well, there’s that bit of land in Barasat, there’s a court case on …”

“No, no, I don’t need to know. Settle it if you can. I don’t care.”

“We should go now. Your fee … ?”

“Here, you can put it right here. What’s it to you—every time I get paid, my sins pile up and collect interest. Alright, gentlemen. May the goddess go with you.”

There was another man waiting outside. Long hair. Glasses. Quite smart. Wearing a raw-silk bush-shirt the color of clotted cream and full pants the color of chocolate. As soon as the jewelers left, he stepped into the room. “When are you free to talk?”

“Please, go ahead. I’m free right now.”

“No, not now. I don’t have time right now. Got a taxi waiting. You take cases in the evenings?”

“I’m sorry, no. I go out in the evenings.”

“Go out? Well, staying in one evening won’t hurt you. This is important.”

Harbart feels a twinge of anxiety. “Am I in some kind of jam?”

“Jam? Well, from one point of view it’s a bit of jam I suppose. Heavy sticky jam. Alright, I’ll come when it’s time. When are you back?”

“I’m usually home by seven-thirty.”

“Yes, of course you are. So that you can drink with the local lumpen. See, I know everything. Alright, I’m off. Goodbye.”

“But why don’t you just speak plainly? This sounds highly suspicious.”

“Let it. I’ll be back. Sweep the suspicions away. Goodbye.”

*

A car was driving out of the Robinson Street nursing home. Its driver wore a white peaked cap. Inside sat a lady doctor, bob-haired and beautiful—the sight rendered Harbart speechless. A foreign car. A Toyota or a Datsun, something like that. Those cars have such great suspension that you can hardly tell they’re moving, they just roll away like a wave. And as its wave flowed past him the lady doctor tossed her head and shook a strand of hair off her face: Harbart saw, statue-frozen to the spot, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Through the glass he saw that face. That old familiar face. He had something terribly important to say. But the lady doctor didn’t stop to listen. The driver drove on. The lady doctor went away.

Who was it who climbed up that wooden staircase?