Feluda compared the little button in his hand with the others on Mr Biswas’s jacket. ‘Yes, it’s a perfect match!’ he declared.

‘So what does that prove? That I went to the cemetery? Of course I did. I’m not denying it.’

‘If I said this jacket wasn’t your own, but your brother’s, would you deny that?’

‘What! You are talking complete nonsense, Mr Mitter!’

‘No. If anyone is talking nonsense, it is you. You came to our house yesterday, and told us a pack of lies. Now you’re doing it again. The jacket that you’re wearing belongs to your brother. He was wearing it when he visited the cemetery just before the storm. He found Godwin’s grave being dug up, and saw you there. He tried to stop you. You struck his head—with a heavy stick, or something like that. Naren Biswas lost consciousness. You would probably have killed him, but at that moment, the storm began. You tried to run away. The tree ...’

Girin Biswas interrupted Feluda. ‘Are you saying that my brother is a liar? Didn’t he say himself that a branch broke and ...?’

It was impossible to stop Feluda. He went on speaking, ‘ ... the tree lost a branch. It broke and fell on your back. You were not wearing a jacket. So you took your brother’s jacket and put it on to cover your bruises. That was when that button came off, and your brother’s wallet slipped out of a pocket. From your own trouser pocket, a form-book for the latest race ...’

Mr Biswas tried to make for the door again, but failed. This time, Feluda himself caught him and took his jacket off. Under his shirt, a bandage was clearly visible.

‘Your brother told several lies to protect you, didn’t he? He cares for you very deeply. Perhaps too much.’

Feluda picked up the watch made by Cooke-Kelvey, and the letter written by Victoria. Then he thrust them into his bag, and turned to Mr Choudhury, who was looking perfectly dumbstruck. ‘Tonight, I missed the chance to hear all your clocks strike the midnight hour. But who knows, I might yet get the chance—one day!’

Lalmohan Babu could be aroused only after our third attempt. I had no idea that he had fainted again and missed the most crucial scene in the drama.

*

‘The Mahadev Choudhurys of this world are very difficult to keep down. Even the police can’t do anything. A man like him is like a Hitler. He can buy people off whenever he wants,’ said Feluda.

We were now sitting by the Ganges. This particular ghat was only five minutes from Mr Choudhury’s country manor. The eastern sky had started to brighten—the sun was about to rise. Heaven knew what would have happened to us if Hari Datta hadn’t meticulously followed every instruction Feluda had given him. (‘What would have happened? Death!’ declared Lalmohan Babu.)