'Who's leaving?' Urmila said.

The man shrugged and lowered his shoulder to the sideboard. 'How am I to know?'

Urmila went running over to the lift and opened the door, motioning to Murugan and Sonali to follow. They squeezed in beside her and she pressed the button for the fourth floor. None of them said a word as the ancient lift ascended slowly upwards through the hollow centre of the staircase.

The lift came to a halt and Urmila stepped out. Her eyes fell on Mrs Aratounian's door and she froze.

The door was wide open, held in place by a brick. Light was pouring out of the flat, gilding the scarred, dusty planks of the landing. On the wall beside the door where the nameplates had once hung, there were now two discoloured rectangular spots.

Their eyes were drawn irresistibly past the door. The hall beyond was empty; the clutter and the brio-a-brae were gone. The walls were absolutely bare. As they stood there staring, two men came out with jute sacks slung over their shoulders: both were full to bursting.

Murugan was the first to move. Running through the empty drawing room he darted into the room he had slept in the night before. Urmila followed, walking as though in a trance, with Sonali close behind her.

A moment later a howl echoed out of Murugan's room: 'My things are all gone. Everything: my laptop, my clothes, my Vuitton suitcase, everything…' Murugan came running back, wild-eyed: 'Even the bed and the mosquito net are gone – everything…'

Footsteps sounded somewhere behind them, along the corridor that led to the kitchen. All three of them turned in unison and found themselves facing a thin, bespectacled man, in a fraying shirt and trousers. He had a pencil behind his ear, and he was holding a clipboard and a sheaf of stapled papers in one hand. In the other he had a fistful of peanuts.

He glared at them, his eyes hugely enlarged by his spectacles. 'Who are you?' he said, with an uncomprehending blink. 'What are you doing here?'

'Who are you?' snapped Urmila. 'And what are you doing in Mrs Aratounian's flat?'

The man stiffened and a frown appeared on his forehead. His eyes flickered angrily from Urmila's face to Murugan's. Then he looked at Sonali and suddenly his face went slack. His arm rose slowly upwards, trembling, scattering peanuts on the floor. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew larger, spilling out of the rims of his spectacles.

'Why,' he stammered, stabbing his index finger in her direction. 'Why, but you… you are… you are Sonali Oas.'

Sonali gave him a nod and a distant smile. He swallowed convulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing like a fisherman's float.

'Do you know who she is?' he said to the others, spluttering in excitement, spraying a fine plume of spit in their direction. 'She is Sonali Oas… the great actress… I never dreamed… '

He was hopping on his toes now, his face flushed with pleasure and excitement.

'Oh, madame,' he said to Sonali, 'we see your films at least twice every year at the Bansdroni Film Society. At my insistence, if I may say so – I am treasurer, co-founder and member-secretary. You can ask anyone in Bansdroni and they'll tell you: Bolai-da won't let a year go by without showing each of Sonali Das's films at least twice. Once there was even an impeachment motion on this score, but…'

He paused, at a loss for words, his eyes filling with tears. 'Oh Madame Sonali,' he said, 'for me you are greater than Anna Magnani in Open City, greater than Garbo in Camille, greater even than… '

He swallowed as though gathering his courage. 'Yes/ he said, with an air of recklessness. 'I will say it, why not? Greater even than the incomparable Madhabi in Charulata.'

Sonali gave him an embarrassed smile.

Murugan could contain his impatience no longer. 'Can we leave this fan-club stuff till later?' he exploded, shaking a fist.

The man flinched, and knocked his knuckles on his skull, as though to awaken himself from a dream. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'I should not permit myself to become so excited.' Urmila patted him gently on the shoulder.

'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'You are quite right about Sonali-di. But at the moment we have something else on our minds. We came here to see Mrs Aratounian. Can you tell us where she is?'

'Mrs Aratounian?' the bespectacled man said dreamily, 'his eyes drifting back to Sonali. 'She has gone.'

'Gone where?' said Murugan.

'Just gone.' The man shrugged, losing interest in the conversation. Suddenly a thought struck him and he turned to Sonali, his face brightening. 'Perhaps you will consent to make an appearance at our Society?' he said. 'Is it possible, madame?'

Sonali answered with a practised gesture that indicated neither confirmation nor disavowal.

Murugan took hold of the man's arm and shook it, hard. 'Later!' he shouted. 'You can talk about that later. First tell us, where's Mrs Aratounian? And where's her stuff – her furniture, and plants and everything? And my stuff – my suitcase, laptop and all the rest?'

The man flicked Murugan's fingers off his arm with a fastidious sniff. 'By the way,' he said. 'There is no need to raise your voice.'

'Sorry,' said Murugan. 'I just wanted to get a grip on your attention before it escaped again. As I was saying: where is everything – my things, her things?'

The man gave him a look of puzzled enquiry, spectacles glinting. 'Don't you know?' he said. 'She sold everything. To the New Russell Exchange. That is why I am here: I am the head clerk in charge of collections and evaluations.'

'But it was all here this morning,' Murugan cried breathlessly. 'I mean, I stayed here last night. Everything was here when I went out this morning. She couldn't have sold it all today.'

The clerk gave him a pitying smile. 'Of course not,' he said. 'Such a sale cannot be arranged in a day' The legal formalities alone… there is the registration of sale to consider and the affidavits and the stamp duty.'

He thrust his clipboard in Murugan's direction. 'Here, look,' he said, pointing with his pencil. 'This is the contract.'

Peering over his shoulder, Murugan and Urmila found themselves looking at a carbon copy of a long typewritten document. The letterhead said New Russell Exchange, Auctioneers and Valuers. The margin of each page was covered with a patchwork of legal stamps, initials and signatures.

The clerk hummed as he flipped through the document. He stopped at the end, with a triumphant cry. 'Here,' he said. 'Do you see? The contract was signed and sealed exactly a year ago, to the day. Mrs Aratounian sold everything on these premises on an as-is-where-is basis, subject to the stipulation that collection would occur exactly a year later.'

He flipped the pages back and tapped on the document with the rubberized butt of his pencil.

'Everything is accounted for in this list,' he said. 'Mrs Aratounian personally showed me the location of every item on that list, this morning. Everything in this flat was entered here at the time of evaluation, just before the flat was sold.'

Urmila gave a disbelieving cry: 'The flat was sold!'

'Yes,' said the clerk. 'The new owners will be taking possession today.'

Murugan stared at him, flabbergasted. 'But,' he began, 'but my things can't be on that list: I wasn't even here.'

The clerk directed a glance of enquiry at Murugan. 'Are you attempting to establish a claim to certain articles?' he said. 'I should inform you that according to this contract we have an absolute legal right to remove everything on these premises.'

'I'm not attempting to claim anything,' said Murugan. 'I just want to know what happened to my things.'

'What were they?' said the clerk. 'Can you describe them?'

Murugan nodded: 'A suitcase, a laptop – that kind of stuff.'