I saw Rajen Babu come to the Mall every day. He struck me as an amiable old man. All his hair had turned grey, and his face always wore a cheerful expression. He generally spent a few minutes in the corner shop that sold old Nepali and Tibetan things; then he came and sat on a bench in the Mall for about half-an-hour, until it started to get dark. After that he went straight home. One day, I followed him quietly to see where he lived. He turned around just as we reached his front gate and asked, ‘Who are you? Why have you been following me?’ ‘My name is Tapesh Ranjan,’ I replied quickly. ‘Well then, here is a lozenge for you,’ he said, offering me a lemon drop. ‘Come to my house one day. I’ll show you my collection of masks,’ he added. Who knew that this friendly old soul would get into such trouble? Why, he seemed totally incapable of getting involved with anything even remotely sinister! Feluda snapped at me when I mentioned this. ‘How can you tell just by looking at someone what he might get mixed up with?’ he demanded. This annoyed me. ‘What do you know of Rajen Babu?’ I said. ‘He’s a good man. A very kind man. He has done a lot for the poor Nepali people who live in slums. There’s no reason why he should be in trouble. I know. I see him every day. You haven’t seen him even once. In fact, I’ve hardly seen you go out at all since we came to Darjeeling.’ ‘All right, all right. Let’s have all the details then. What would a little boy like you know of danger, anyway?’ Now, this wasn’t fair. I was not a little boy any more. I was thirteen and a half. Feluda was twenty- seven. To tell you the truth, I came to know about the trouble Rajen Babu was in purely by accident. I was sitting on a bench in the Mall today, waiting for the band to start playing. On my left was Tinkori Babu, reading a newspaper. He had recently arrived from Calcutta to spend the summer in Darjeeling, and had taken a room on rent in Rajen Babu’s house. I was trying to lean over his shoulder and look at the sports page, when Rajen Babu arrived panting and collapsed on the empty portion of our bench, next to Tinkori Babu. He looked visibly shaken. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Tinkori Babu, folding his newspaper. ‘Did you just run up a hill?’ ‘No, no,’ Rajen Babu replied cautiously, wiping his face with one corner of his scarf. ‘Something incredible has happened.’ I knew what ‘incredible’ meant. Feluda was quite partial to the word. ‘What do you mean?’ Tinkori Babu asked. ‘Look, here it is,’ Rajen Babu passed a piece of folded blue paper to Tinkori Babu. I could tell it was a letter, but made no attempt to read it when Tinkori Babu unfolded it. I looked away instead, humming under my breath to indicate a complete lack of interest in what the two old men were discussing. But I heard Tinkori Babu remark, ‘You’re right, it is incredible! Who could possibly write such a threatening letter to you?’ ‘I don’t know. That’s what’s so puzzling. I don’t remember having deliberately caused anyone any harm. As far as I know, I have no enemies.’

Tinkori Babu leant towards his neighbour. ‘We’d better not talk about this in public,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go home.’ The two gentlemen left. Feluda remained silent for a while after I had finished my story. Then he frowned and said, ‘You mean you think we need to investigate?’ ‘Why, didn’t you tell me you were looking for a mystery? And you said you had read so many detective novels that you could work as a sleuth yourself!’ ‘Yes, that’s true. I could prove it, too. I didn’t go to the Mall today, did I? But I could tell you which side you sat on.’ ‘All right, which side was it?’ ‘You chose a bench on the right side of the Radha restaurant, didn’t you?’ ‘That’s terrific. How did you guess?’ ‘The sun came out this evening. Your left cheek looks sunburnt but the right one is all right. This could happen only if you sat on that side of the Mall. That’s the bit that catches the evening sunshine.’ ‘Incredible!’ ‘Yes. Anyway, I think we should go and visit Mr Rajen Majumdar.’ ‘Another seventy-seven steps.’ ‘And what if it’s not?’ ‘It has to be, Feluda. I counted the last time.’ ‘Remember you’ll get knocked on the head if you’re wrong.’ ‘OK, but not too hard. A sharp knock may damage my brain.’ To my amazement, seventy-seven steps later, we were still at some distance from Rajen Babu’s gate. Another twenty-three brought us right up to it. Feluda hit my head lightly, and asked, ‘Did you count the steps on your way back?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘That explains it. You went down the hill on your way back, you idiot. You must have taken very big steps.’ ‘Well . . . yes, maybe.’ ‘I’m sure you did. You see, young people always tend to take big, long steps when going downhill. Older people have to be more cautious, so they take smaller, measured steps.’ We went in through the gate. Feluda pressed the calling bell. Someone in the distance was listening to a radio. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to say to him?’ I asked. ‘That’s my business. You, my dear, will keep your mouth shut.’ ‘Even if they ask me something.? You mean I shouldn’t even make a reply?’ ‘Shut up.’ A Nepali servant opened the door. ‘Andar aaiye,’ he said. We stepped into the living room. Made of wood, the house had a lovely old charm. All the furniture in the room was made of cane. The walls were covered with strange masks, most showing large teeth and