It began pouring soon after twelve o’clock. The rain was accompanied by frequent thunder. Lalmohan Babu and I sat in our room trying—in vain—to work out what possible role we might have to play later in the day. Mallik had been arrested, the yakshi’s head was safely locked away. As far as we were concerned, that was the end of the story. What else could Feluda be thinking of? The chowkidar told us at one o’clock that lunch was ready. We went into the dining hall without Feluda. He was probably having lunch with Mr Kulkarni in the guest house. Mr Raxit joined us. He had seemed extremely cross this morning when we had spoken to him, but now he appeared cheerful once more. ‘On a day like this,’ he said, ‘a Bengali ought to have kedgeree, pakoras and fried hilsa. I have lived out of Bengal for many years, but haven’t forgotten Bengali habits.’ The meal we were served here was different, but no less tasty. I finished my bowl of daal, and had just helped myself to the meat curry, when a car drew up outside the front door and a thin, squeaky voice cried: ‘Chowkidar!’ The chowkidar rushed out, clutching an umbrella. Mr Raxit soaked a piece of his chapati in the curry, put it in his mouth and said, ‘A tourist? In this weather?’ A tall man walked in, taking off his raincoat. Most of his hair was grey. He had a short moustache and goatee, and he wore glasses. ‘I’ve already had my lunch,’ he told the chowkidar, who was carrying his aged leather suitcase. Then he turned to us and asked, ‘Who has been arrested?’ Feluda had told us not to say anything about Mallik’s arrest, so we simply stared foolishly. Mr Raxit gave a start and said, ‘Arrested?’ ‘Yes. Some vandal. He was apparently trying to steal a statue from one of the caves, and was caught. At least, that’s what I’ve just heard. I only hope they won’t decide to close the caves because of this. I’ve travelled quite far simply to see the statues here. Why, haven’t you heard anything?’ ‘No.’ ‘Anyway, I’m glad the fellow was caught. I must say the police here are quite efficient.’ The man was given the third empty room. He disappeared into it, but we could hear him talking to himself. Perhaps he was slightly mad. The rain stopped at around two-thirty. Half an hour later, I saw the new arrival walking towards the eucalyptus trees. He came back in five minutes. The chowkidar brought us our tea at four-thirty. I noticed a small piece of paper on the floor as he left. It turned out to be another message from Feluda: ‘Go to cave number fifteen at seven o’clock. Wait in the south-eastern corner on the first floor.’ He was still running a campaign, totally unseen. This had never happened before. Fortunately, it did not rain again. When we left the bungalow at six-thirty, both Mr Raxit and the man with the goatee appeared to be in their rooms, for their lights were on. Lalmohan Babu muttered

a short prayer as we set out. My own feelings were so confused that I am not even going to try to describe them. My hands felt cold. I thrust them into my pockets. We reached Kailash ten minutes before seven. The western sky was still quite bright since the sun did not set here at this time of year until after six-thirty. The caves and hills seemed darker, but the sky had cleared. We turned right after reaching Kailash. The next cave was number fifteen, the Das Avatar cave. It was at this one that Feluda had thrown a pebble last night. There was no one around. We walked on. The courtyard before the cave was large. There was a small shrine in the middle of it. We crossed it quickly and climbed a few steps to go through the main entrance that took us into the cave. We had been told to find the first floor. I could dimly see a flight of steps going up. God knew if there was anyone already hiding in the dark. We went up the steps, trying not to make any noise at all. The stairs led us to a huge hall. Rows of carved pillars stood supporting the roof, as though they were carrying it on their heads. There were scenes from Indian mythology, beautifully carved on the northern and the southern walls. We found the south-eastern corner. It was too dark inside to see clearly. I had taken off my sandals before climbing the stairs, but now the rocky floor felt so cold that I had to put them on again. As neither of us knew how long we might have to wait, we sat down, leaning against the wall. Who knew what was going to happen next in this cave, built twelve hundred years ago, and filled with amazing specimens of ancient art? Something happened almost immediately. As soon as we had sat down, my eyes fell on something that made me give an involuntary gasp. Only a few feet away from where we were sitting, barely visible in the dark, was a solid round object lying on the floor. Sticking out from under it was a white square object. Neither was a part of the temple decorations. Someone had placed them there deliberately. What could they be? Who had kept them there, and for whom? ‘P-paper?’ Lalmohan Babu whispered, pointing at the white object. We rose and went closer. What we saw made us stare in utter disbelief. It was indeed a piece of paper, but what had been used as a paperweight was the yakshi’s head! There could be no mistake. We had seen it only this morning—first in Mr Ghote’s hand, and then in Mr Kulkarni’s, who had locked it away in his safe. I shone the torch on the piece of paper.