Feluda wanted to stop at the guest house on our way back. ‘I want to see what newspapers they get,’ he said by way of an explanation. Lalmohan Babu and I returned to the bungalow. We were both feeling hungry, so Lalmohan Babu called out to the chowkidar and asked him to bring us tea and biscuits. The dining room faced the small lobby. The room to its right—number one—was ours. Number two was empty. Opposite these two were rooms three and four. The stout gentleman was in one of them, and Feluda had the other. Lalmohan Babu was still in a mood to snoop. ‘Listen, Tapesh,’ he said, sipping his tea, ‘I think we can leave the American out of this, at least for the moment. That leaves us with three other people: Bose, Mallik and that man who’s staying here. We know something about Bose and Mallik—true or false, God only knows—but we know absolutely nothing about the third man, not even his name. We could peep into his room now, it doesn’t appear to be locked.’ I did not like the idea, so I said, ‘What if the chowkidar sees us?’ ‘He cannot see us if I go in, and you stay here to look out for him. If you see the chowkidar coming this way, start coughing. I will get out of that room at once. I think your cousin will appreciate a helping hand. This man’s suitcase also struck me as quite heavy.’ The whole world was suddenly full of heavy suitcases. But I could not stop him. To be honest, although I had never done anything like this before for anyone except Feluda, there was a scent of adventure in the suggestion, so I found myself agreeing. I went to the back veranda. There was a small courtyard facing the veranda, across which was the kitchen and, next to it, the chowkidar’s room. A cycle stood outside this room. A boy of about twelve —presumably his son—was cleaning it with great concentration. I turned my head as I heard a faint creaking noise and saw Lalmohan Babu sneak into room number three. A couple of minutes later, it was he who coughed loudly to indicate that he had finished his job. I returned to our room. ‘There was nothing much in there,’ Lalmohan Babu said. ‘His suitcase seemed pretty old, but it was locked and it did not open even when I pulled the handle. On the table was an empty spectacle-case with “Stephens Company, Calcutta” stamped on it, a bottle of indigestion pills and a tube of Odomos. Apart from these things, there was nothing that I . . .’ ‘Whose possessions are you talking about?’ asked Feluda. We looked up with a start. He had walked into our room silently, almost like a ghost. This called for an honest confession. Much to my surprise, he did not get cross with either of us. All he said was, ‘Was there any particular reason for doing this?’ ‘No, it’s just that we don’t know anything about the man, do we?’ Lalmohan Babu tried to explain. ‘I mean, he hasn’t even told us his name. And he looks kind of hefty, doesn’t he? Didn’t you say there was a whole gang involved in this? So I thought . . .’

‘So you thought he must be one of them? There was no need to search his room just to get his name. He’s called R.N. Raxit. His name’s written on one side of his suitcase. I don’t think we need to know any more about him at this moment. Please don’t go into his room again. It simply means taking unnecessary risks. After all, we haven’t got any concrete reason to suspect him.’ ‘Very well. That just leaves the American.’ ‘He’s called Lewison, Sam Lewison. Another Jew, and also very wealthy. He owns an art gallery in New York.’ ‘How do you know all this?’ I asked, surprised. ‘The manager of the guest house told me. We got talking. He’s a very nice man, passionately fond of detective novels. In fact, he’s been waiting for thieves and crooks to arrive here ever since he read about the thefts in other temples.’ ‘Did you tell him why you were here?’ ‘Yes. He can help us a great deal. Don’t forget Mallik is staying in his guest house. Apparently, Mallik has already tried to ring someone in Bombay, but the call didn’t come through.’ That night, all four guests in the bungalow sat down to dinner together. Feluda did not speak a word. Mr Raxit turned to Lalmohan Babu and tried to make conversation by asking him if he specialized in any particular period of history. In answer to that, Lalmohan Babu said he didn’t know very much about pyramids, except that they were in Egypt. Then he went back to dunking pieces of chapati into his bowl of daal. Mr Raxit cast me a puzzled glance. I placed a hand on my ear and shook my head to indicate that my ‘uncle’ was hard of hearing. Mr Raxit nodded vigorously and refrained from asking further questions. After dinner, Feluda went straight to his room and Lalmohan Babu and I went out for a walk. It was quite windy outside. A pale moon shone between patches of dark clouds. From somewhere came the fragrance of hasnahana. Lalmohan Babu, inspired by all this, decided to start singing a classical raga. I suddenly felt quite lighthearted. Just at that moment, we saw a man walking towards us from the guest house. Lalmohan Babu stopped singing (which was a relief since he was singing perfectly out of tune) and stood still. As the man got closer, I recognized him. It was Shubhankar Bose. ‘I wish your cousin was here!’ Lalmohan Babu whispered. ‘Out for a walk, eh?’ Mr Bose asked. Then he cleared his throat, looked around a couple of times, lowered his voice and said, ‘Er . . .