‘Yes, I wrote it. On the Monument? Yes, it’s one of mine. I’ve written elsewhere as well. I had a job until last year. Now I’m retired. I have to keep myself occupied, don’t I? I was once a student of history, you see. I’ve always been interested in that subject. When I was in college, one day I walked all the way from Bag Bazar to Dum Dum to look at Clive’s house. Have you ever seen it? It was there until recently—a house built like a bungalow. Its front wall bore the East India Company’s coat-of-arms.’

‘Did you go to Presidency College?’

On the wall, above the desk, was a group photo. ‘Presidency College, Alumni Association, 1953,’ it said.

‘It wasn’t just I,’ Mr Biswas informed us, ‘my son, my brother, father, even grandfather went to Presidency. It’s a family tradition. Now I am ashamed to admit that we won gold medals, both Girin and I.’

‘Ashamed? Why should you be ashamed?’

‘Well, that didn’t get us anywhere, did it? What did we achieve in life? I held down a job, and Girin ran a business. That’s all. No one knows us, our names mean nothing to people.’

Feluda had stepped closer to the photo to take a good look. Now his eyes travelled to the desk. A blue notebook was lying open. Only about ten lines had been written on the page, no more.

‘Is your name Narendra Nath, or Narendra Mohan?’ Feluda asked.

‘ ... sorry?’

Perhaps Mr Biswas had become a little preoccupied. Feluda had to repeat his question. That made Mr Biswas smile and look faintly surprised. ‘As far as I know, it’s Narendra Nath. Why, do you have reason to believe that’s not my name?’

‘Your visiting card says N. M. Biswas.’

‘Oh, that? That’s a printer’s error. When I give one of those cards to anyone, I always change the “M” to “N”. I could have got some new cards printed, but never got round to it. To tell you the truth, I don’t really need a card. I put a few in my wallet only because, of late, I’ve been visiting museums, and sometimes I have to meet some of their officials. By the way, are you going to write about that old cemetery? I hope not! I could never compete with a young rival like you.’

‘No, I don’t write,’ Feluda said as he rose to take his leave, ‘I’m happy simply to learn. Incidentally, I have a request. While you’re doing your research, if you come across any mention of a family called Godwin, could you please let me know? It would really help me.’

‘Godwin?’

‘Yes. Thomas Godwin was buried in the Park Street cemetery. In fact, the same tree that injured you also damaged Godwin’s tomb.’

‘Really?’