At one end of the room Suman is sitting on a bench. It is dark where he is sitting. He can be seen dimly through the foggy darkness. Two tables-somewhat apart-stand right under the powerful lights. An iron rod rests across the tables. Bratati is hanging suspended head down from the rod as if she was doing shirshasan (headstand). The rod has been inserted between her folded knees. Her ankles are bound tight to her thighs to prevent her tumbling off the rod. Rolled into a crumpled ball her sari lies on a table. Bratati is wearing only a petticoat now and she is unconscious. Suman is well and his usual self, unharmed. He hasn’t suffered so much as a scratch. Inspector Samaddar knows jolly well that beating won’t produce results in a case like this. Four hours ago, taking his posse of policemen Samaddar went and caught Suman. The blighter is like a slippery eel and he’d slipped through their net a number of times in the past. Samaddar is bristling with fury. However, fury can wait for the time being. Right now, he needs a breakthrough-the vital information. He must get hold of the dope before dawn.