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course it’s me. Who did you think . . .?’ Feluda started to laugh, but suddenly grew grave. Then he sat down next to me, and said, ‘I was simply trying on all those masks in the living room. Why don’t you wear this one for a second?’ He passed me his mask. I put it on.
    ‘Can you sense something unusual?’
    ‘Why, no! It’s a size too large for me, that’s all.’
    ‘Think carefully. Isn’t there anything else that might strike you as odd?’
    ‘Well . . . there’s a faint smell, I think.’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘Cheroot?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    Feluda took the mask off. My heart started to beat faster again. ‘T-t-t-inkori Babu?’ I stammered.
    Feluda sighed. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. It must have been extremely easy for him. He had access to all kinds of printed material; and you must have noticed he was limping this morning. That might have been the result of jumping out of a window last night. But what I totally fail to understand is his motive. He appeared to respect Rajen Babu a lot. Why then did he do something like this? What for? Perhaps we shall never know.’
    The night passed peacefully and without any further excitement. In the morning, just as we sat down to have breakfast with our host, his Nepali servant came in with a letter for him. It was once again a blue envelope with a Darjeeling post-mark.
    Rajen Babu went white. He took out the letter with a trembling hand and passed it to Feluda. ‘You read it,’ he said in a low voice.
    Feluda read it aloud. This is what it said:
Dear Raju,
    When I first wrote to you from Calcutta after Gyanesh told me you had a house in Darjeeling, I had no idea who you really were. But that photograph of yours on your mantelshelf told me instantly that you were none other than the boy who had once been my classmate in the missionary school in Bankura fifty years ago.
    I did not know that the desire for revenge would raise its head even after so many years. You see, I was the boy you kicked at that hundred-yards race on our sports day. Not only did I miss out on winning a medal and setting a new record, but you also managed to injure me pretty seriously. Unfortunately, my father got transferred to a different town only a few days after this incident, which was why I never got the chance to have a showdown with you then; nor did you ever learn just how badly you had hurt me, both mentally and physically. I had to spend three months in a hospital with my leg in a cast.
    When I saw you here in Darjeeling, leading such a comfortable and peaceful life, I suddenly thought of doing something thatwould cause you a great deal of anxiety and ruin your peace of mind, at least for a short time. This was my way of settling scores, and punishing you for your past sins.
    With good wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Tinu
(Tinkori Mukhopadhyay)



The Emperor’s Ring
     

One
    I was at first quite disappointed when I heard Baba say, ‘Let’s have a holiday in Lucknow this year. Dhiru has been asking us for a long time to go and visit him.’ It was my belief that Lucknow was dull and boring. Baba did say we’d include a trip to Haridwar and Laxmanjhoola, and the latter was in the hills—but that would be just for a few days. We generally went to either Darjeeling or Puri. I liked both the sea and the mountains. Lucknow had neither. So I said to Baba, ‘Couldn’t we ask Feluda to come with us?’
    Feluda has a theory about himself. No matter where he goes, he says, mysterious things start happening around him. And true enough, the last time he went with us to Darjeeling, all those strange things happened to Rajen Babu. If Lucknow could offer something similar, it wouldn’t matter too much if the place itself was boring.
    Baba said, ‘Felu would be most welcome, but can he get away?’ Feluda appeared quite enthusiastic when I told him. ‘Went there in 1958 to play a cricket match,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad place at all. If you went inside the Bhoolbhulaia in the Burra Imambara,