We rang Dinanath Babu as soon as we got home. He was completely nonplussed. ‘Goodness me!’ he exclaimed, ‘I had no idea a thing like this could happen! One possible explanation is, of course, that those two men were just ordinary thieves without any particular motive to steal Dhameeja’s attaché case. But even so, the fact remains that both this man called Puri and the address he gave, were totally fictitious. That means Mr Dhameeja never really went to the railway reservation office. Who, then, made the phone call?’ ‘If we knew that, there would be no need for further investigations, Mr Lahiri.’ ‘But tell me, what made you suspicious in the first place?’ The fact that the man rang you so late in the night. Mr Dhameeja went back yesterday. So why didn’t Mr Puri give you a call yesterday or during the day today?’ ‘I see. Well, it looks as though we have to go back to our original plan of sending you to Simla. But considering the turn this whole business is taking, frankly I am now scared to send you anywhere.’ Feluda laughed, ‘Don’t worry, Mr Lahiri. I can’t call your case tame and insipid any more. It’s definitely got a taste of excitement. And I am glad, for I would have felt ashamed to take your money otherwise. Anyway, I would now like you to do something for me, please.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Let me have a list of the contents of your case. It would make it easier for me to check when Dhameeja returns it.’ ‘That’s easy since there wasn’t anything much, anyway. But I’ll let you have the list when I send you your tickets.’ Feluda left home early the next morning. His whole demeanour had changed in just a few hours. I could tell by the way he kept cracking his knuckles that he was feeling restless and disturbed. Like me, he had not been able to work out why anyone should try to steal a case that contained nothing of value. He had examined each item carefully once more, going so far as squeezing some of the toothpaste out and feeling the shaving cream by pressing the tube gently. He even took out the blades from their container and unfolded the newspapers. Still, he found nothing suspicious. Feluda left at about 8 a.m. ‘I will return at eleven,’ he said before leaving. ‘If anyone rings the calling bell in the next three hours, don’t open the door yourself. Get Srinath to do it.’ I resigned myself to wait patiently for his return. Baba had gone out of town. So I wrote a letter for him, explaining why Feluda and I had to go to Simla before he got back. Having done this, I settled down on the settee in the living-room with a book. But I could not read. The more I thought about Feluda’s new case, the more confused I felt. Dinanath Babu, his nephew who acted in films, the irascible Mr Pakrashi, Mr Dhameeja of Simla, the moneylender called Brijmohan . . . everyone

seemed unreal, as though each was wearing a mask. Even the contents of the Air-India case seemed false. And, on top of everything else, was last night’s frightening experience . . . No, I must stop thinking. I picked up a magazine. It was a film magazine called Sparkling Stars. Ah yes, here was the photograph of Amar Kumar I had seen before. ‘The newcomer, Amar Kumar, in the latest film being made by Sri Guru Pictures’, said the caption. Amar Kumar was staring straight into the camera, wearing a cap very much in the style of Dev Anand in Jewel Thief, a scarf around his throat, a cruel smile under a pencil-thin moustache. There was a pistol in his hand, very obviously a fake, possibly made of wood. Something made me suddenly jump up and turn to the telephone directory. Here it was—Sri Guru Pictures, 53 Bentinck Street. 24554. I dialled the number quickly. It rang several times before someone answered at the other end. ‘Hello.’ ‘Is that Sri Guru Pictures?’ My voice had recently started to break. So I was sure whoever I was speaking to would never guess I was really no more than fifteen-and-a-half. ‘Yes, this is Sri Guru Pictures.’ ‘This is about Amar Kumar, you know . . . the newcomer in your latest film—’ ‘Please speak to Mr Mallik.’ The telephone was passed to another man. ‘Yes?’ ‘Mr Mallik?’ ‘Speaking.’ ‘Is there someone called Amar Kumar working in your latest film? The Ghost, I think it’s called?’ ‘Amar Kumar has been dropped.’ ‘Dropped?’ ‘Who am I speaking to, please?’ ‘I . . . well, I . . .’ Like a fool, I could think of nothing to say and put the receiver down hurriedly. So Amar Kumar was no longer in the cast! It must have been because of his voice. How unfair, though, to reject him after his picture had been published in a magazine. But didn’t the man know, or did he simply pretend to us that he was still acting in the film? I was lost in thought when the telephone rang, startling me considerably. ‘Hello!’ I gasped. There was no response for a few seconds. Then I heard a faint click. Oh, I knew. Someone was calling from a public pay phone. ‘Hello?’ I said again. This time, I heard a voice, soft but distinct. ‘Going to Simla, are you?’ This was the last thing I’d have expected to hear from a strange voice. Rendered speechless, I could only swallow in silence. The voice spoke again. It sounded harsh and the words it uttered chilled my blood. ‘Danger. Do you hear? You are both going to be in great danger if you go to Simla.’ This was followed by another click. The line was disconnected. But I didn’t need to hear any more. Those few words were enough.

Like the Nepali Rana in Uncle Sidhu’s story,