Jatayu was the pseudonym of Lalmohan Ganguli, the famous writer of best-selling crime thrillers. We had first met him on our way to the golden fortress in Rajasthan. There are some men who appear strangely comical without any apparent reason. Lalmohan Babu was one of them. He was short—the top of his head barely reached Feluda’s shoulder; he wore size five shoes, was painfully thin, and yet would occasionally fold one of his arms absentmindedly and feel his biceps with the other. The next instant, he would give a violent start if anyone so much as sneezed loudly in the next room. ‘I brought my latest book for you and Tapesh,’ he said, offering the brown parcel to Feluda. He had started coming to our house fairly regularly ever since our adventure in Rajasthan. ‘Which country did you choose this time?’ Feluda asked, unwrapping the parcel. The spine-chilling escapades of Lalmohan Babu’s hero involved moving through different countries. ‘Oh, I have covered practically the whole world this time,’ Lalmohan Babu replied proudly, ‘from the Nilgiris to the North Pole.’ ‘I hope there are no factual errors this time?’ Feluda said quizzically, passing the book to me. Feluda had had to correct a mistake in his last book, The Sahara Shivers, regarding a camel’s water supply. ‘No, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu grinned. ‘One of my neighbours has a full set of the “Encyclopaedia Britannia”. I checked every detail.’ ‘I’d have felt more reassured, Lalmohan Babu, if you had consulted the Britannica rather than the Britannia.’ But Jatayu ignored this remark and went on, ‘The climax comes— you’ve got to read it—with my hero, Prakhar Rudra, having a fight with a hippopotamus.’ ‘A hippo?’ ‘Yes, it’s really a thrilling affair.’ ‘Where does this fight take place?’ ‘Why, in the North Pole, of course. A hippo, didn’t I say?’ ‘A hippopotamus in the North Pole?’ ‘Yes, yes. Haven’t you seen pictures of this animal? It has whiskers like the bristles of a garden broom, fangs that stick out like a pair of white radishes, it pads softly on the snow . . .’ ‘That’s a walrus, surely? A hippopotamus lives in Africa!’ Jatayu turned a deep shade of pink and bit his lip in profound embarrassment. ‘Eh heh heh heh!’ he said. ‘Bad mistake, that! Tell you what, from now on I’ll show you my manuscript before giving it to the publisher.’ Feluda made no reply to this. ‘Excuse me,’ he said and disappeared into his room. ‘Your cousin appears a little quiet,’ Lalmohan Babu said to me. ‘Has he got a new case?’ ‘No, it’s nothing important,’ I told him. ‘But we have to go to Simla in the next couple of days.’

‘A long tour?’ ‘No, just about four days.’ ‘Hmm . . . I’ve never been to that part of the country . . .’ Lalmohan Babu grew preoccupied. But he began to show signs of animation the minute Feluda returned. ‘Tapesh tells me you’re going to Simla. Is it something