‘I suffer from gout, so I can’t move,’ explained the man. ‘I have to take the help of my servant, and that idiot slips away whenever he can.’

Feluda introduced us, and got straight down to business. If the other man was annoyed by our sudden arrival, he did not show it.

‘We have come only for some information. Are you a descendant of Thomas Godwin, who came to India in the early nineteenth century?’

The man raised his eyes and looked directly at Feluda. Now I could see that his eyes were faded blue. He stared hard for a few seconds, then he said, ‘Now, how the hell do you know about my great-greatgrandfather?’

‘So my assumption is correct?’

‘Yes, but there’s more. In fact, I have got something that once belonged to Thomas Godwin. At least, that’s what my grandmother told me. One hundred and fifty years ... oh hell!’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘That scoundrel, Arakis—cheat, bloody fraud! He took it from me only last night. Said he’d return it today. They’re going to have their meeting this evening. It’s Thursday, isn’t it? Right. You’ll hear all kinds of strange noises from upstairs. Give it a few more minutes, then it’ll start.’

The room seemed darker than before. Was it because I was feeling quite confused? Or because night had fallen? No, there was a rumble of thunder. The sky had become overcast. No wonder the room had grown darker.

Feluda was seated in an armless chair, facing Mr Godwin. Lalmohan Babu had taken an easy chair by his side, but did not appear to be at his ease. He was restless and kept shifting in his chair, which probably meant that it was infested by bugs. Feluda was staring straight at Mr Godwin. Even without uttering a word, he seemed to be saying, ‘You can tell me whatever you want. I am here to listen.’

‘It’s an ivory casket,’ said Mr Godwin, ‘and there are a few things in it. Two old pipes, a silver snuff box, a pair of spectacles, and a parcel wrapped with silk. Perhaps it contains a book—I have never bothered to look. We had plenty of other antiques. My son—that vagabond—has sold everything. He dropped out of college, began smoking ganja, and then started removing various things from this house. I don’t know why he didn’t take the casket. Perhaps he would have, but his luck changed, so he didn’t really have to. He’s formed a music group. We live on what he earns, if you can call this living. But who am I to talk, or blame my son? Much of it was my own fault. I have heard that Thomas Godwin lost his possessions in gambling. I had the same problem.’