Mahadev Choudhury was scolding someone furiously. The three of us held our breath and were more or less forced to eavesdrop. The second person was still speaking gently, so we could not hear what he was saying. But soon, Choudhury’s voice boomed out again: ‘I never pay an advance in matters like this, but I paid you because you insisted. And now you’re telling me you’ve already spent that money? Honestly, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Besides, why should I have to pay such a lot of money for such a small job? I don’t understand at all! But ... all right, I’ll pay. I want that stuff within two days. No excuses this time. Is that clear?’

Complete silence followed these remarks. Then we heard footsteps, which seemed to be going towards the front door. A minute later, Mr Choudhury’s employee came back. ‘Please follow me,’ he said.

Mr Choudhury’s appearance—from head to toe— was truly like velvet. Even at six in the evening, his cheeks were smooth and shiny. ‘I bet he shaves twice a day!’ I thought to myself. Lalmohan Babu told us later, ‘If a fly had gone and sat on his cheek, it would have slipped off!’

The huge living room we were in was as shiny and polished as its owner. There was not even a speck of dust anywhere, and its nooks and corners certainly seemed free of ants and cockroaches.

Mr Choudhury raised a gold cigarette holder to his lips, inhaled and glanced at Feluda. ‘Well? Have you brought that clock?’ he asked.

We were all startled by the question. ‘Clock? What clock?’ Feluda said.

‘Didn’t you say you wanted to see me regarding a clock? I thought you had seen my ad in the papers and that’s why you were calling.’

‘Forgive me, Mr Choudhury,’ Feluda told him, ‘I did not see your advertisement. I need some information. It may be related to a clock. I was told you know a lot about the subject, so I ...’

Creases appeared on the velvety surface. Mr Choudhury shifted in his chair, looking faintly irritated. ‘I haven’t got a lot of time, Mr Mitter. I am about to leave town. Please try to be brief.’

‘What is a Perigal repeater? That’s all I want to know.’

The velvet suddenly turned to stone. The cigarette- holder was poised a couple of inches from his mouth. Mr Choudhury’s eyes were still, fixed unblinkingly on Feluda.

‘Where did you find that name?’

‘In a nineteenth-century English novel.’

There were times when Feluda did not hesitate to lie, if it helped in getting results. I had seen him do it before. ‘I know that a repeater can be either a gun or a clock. I saw that in a dictionary. But no one can tell me anything about Perigal.’