They found Mohan Lal seated exactly as reported—on a stone bench beside the river temple lane, hands folded, face calm beneath the dusk lamps.
He did not rise when Devendra Sen approached.
“I wondered how long you would take,” Mohan said.
Inspector Harish Mehta stepped forward.
“You may save speeches for the station.”
Mohan looked only at Devendra.
“May I speak first?”
The detective nodded.
They moved to a quiet veranda of the abandoned temple. The river below carried black water and reflected broken lights.
Mohan began without drama.
“My son did not die in the factory accident. He died later—slowly. Coughing blood, unable to breathe, unable to work. They called it compensation delayed. We called it hunger.”
He removed a folded receipt from his pocket.
“A hospital estimate. Last month.”
Devendra read it silently.
“You asked Raghav for help.”
“Yes. For what he stole from us already. He laughed.”
Inspector Mehta said sharply, “And so you poisoned him.”
Mohan closed his eyes.
“I wished to.”
“Did you?”
“I prepared for it.”
The inspector smiled grimly. “At last.”
But Devendra remained still.
“Tell us everything.”
Mohan spoke.
He had learned of the sugar-free mints in the study desk. He obtained poison through a rat-control vendor in the market. He crushed and coated one mint, then replaced it in the tin that afternoon while cleaning.
“I thought it simple,” he said. “He eats one after dinner. Justice enters by his own hand.”
“And then?” asked Devendra.
“I lost courage.”
The inspector barked a laugh. “Convenient.”
Mohan continued.
“At eight that night, I went to the study before sir entered. I opened the tin to remove the poisoned mint.”
Anil leaned forward.
“You removed it?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did he die?”
Mohan’s voice broke for the first time.
“Because it was already gone.”
Silence fell like stone.
Inspector Mehta stared.
“What nonsense is this?”
“I had placed six mints in the tin. One poisoned. When I opened it, only five remained. The poisoned one was missing.”
Devendra’s eyes sharpened.
“So someone had taken a mint earlier.”
“Yes.”
“Who knew of your plan?”
“No one.”
“Who saw you tampering with the tin?”
Mohan hesitated.
“I do not know.”
The inspector paced furiously.
“You expect us to believe you planted poison, then changed your mind, and another person accidentally fed it to him?”
“No,” said Devendra quietly. “Not accidentally.”
He turned to Mohan.
“After discovering the mint gone, what did you do?”
“I panicked. Then heard shouting later, door breaking, chaos. I fled at dawn.”
Devendra nodded slowly.
“The trap was set before you knew it.”
Inspector Mehta frowned. “Explain plainly.”
“Mohan created a hidden weapon inside the house—a poisoned mint. Another person discovered or suspected it, then used it deliberately.”
Anil gasped. “Meaning the real killer never needed to obtain poison.”
“Exactly. They only needed opportunity.”
Devendra stood.
“We return to the house tonight.”
“For what?” snapped the inspector.
“To recreate the murder.”
At Shantiniket House, all principal suspects were assembled in the study once more: Naina Malhotra, Arjun Malhotra, Kamini, and the police.
On the desk, Devendra placed an identical tin of mints.
He seated Anil in Raghav’s chair.
“Imagine you are a man who trusts routine,” said the detective. “Dinner ends. You enter study. Someone has already prepared a false audio trick through the shaft. Another person knows a poisoned mint lies in the tin. That person waits only for one thing…”
He looked around the room.
“…the moment Mr. Malhotra sits down.”
Then Devendra walked to the door, paused, and turned the handle from outside.
“Who had reason to be alone with him for ten seconds before he bolted this door?”
Everyone looked at once toward the valet’s position.
Then toward the family.
Then toward the person no one had considered entering without suspicion.
Naina Malhotra.
She did not move.
But one hand slowly tightened on the chair arm.
Devendra said softly:
“Part 12 will require only honesty.”