I had seen snow-capped mountains before—Kanchenjunga in Darjeeling and the top of Annapurna from a plane; and certainly I had seen snow in films. But nothing had startled me as much as what I saw in Simla. If it wasn’t for other Indians strolling on the streets, I could have sworn we were in a foreign country. ‘This town was built by the British, like Darjeeling,’ Feluda told me, ‘so it does have the appearance of a foreign city. One Lt. Ross built a wooden cottage here in 1819 for himself. That was the beginning. Soon, the British turned this into their summer capital, since in the summer months life on the plains became pretty uncomfortable.’ We had taken a metre gauge train at Kalka to reach Simla. Nothing remarkable happened on the way, although I noticed that the old man with the earplugs travelled on the same train and checked in at the Clarkes just like us. Since the main season had not yet started, there were plenty of rooms available and Lalmohan Babu, too, found one at the Clarkes without any problem. Feluda went looking for a post office soon after checking in. I offered to go with him, but he said someone should stay behind to guard the new attaché case; so Lalmohan Babu and I remained at the hotel. Feluda hadn’t made a single remark on the snow or the beautiful town. Lalmohan Babu, on the other hand, appeared to be totally overwhelmed. Everything he saw struck him as ‘fanastatic’. When I pointed out that the word was ‘fantastic’, he said airily that the speed with which he read English was so remarkable that not often did he find the time to look at the words carefully. Besides, there were a number of other questions he wanted answered—was it possible to find polar bears in Simla, did the Aurora Borealis appear here, did the Eskimos use the same snow to build their ilgoos (at which point I had to correct him again and say that it was igloos the Eskimos built, not ilgoos). The man was unstoppable. The Clarkes Hotel stood on a slope. A veranda ran by the side of its second floor, which led to the street. The manager’s room, the lounge, as well as our own rooms, were all on the second floor. Wooden stairs ran down to the first floor where there were more rooms and the dining-hall. Feluda got delayed on his way back, so it was past 2 p.m. by the time we finished our lunch. A band was playing in one corner of the dining-hall. Lalmohan Babu called it a concert. The old man with the earplugs was also having lunch in the same room, as were three foreigners—two men and a woman. I had seen a man with dark glasses and a pointed beard leave the room when we came in. It did not appear as though there was anyone else in the hotel apart from these people and ourselves. ‘We are going to see Mr Dhameeja today, aren’t we?’ I asked, slowly sipping the hot soup. ‘Yes, at four o’clock. We needn’t leave before three,’ Feluda replied. ‘Where exactly does he live?’ ‘The Wildflower Hall is on the way to Kufri. Eight miles from here.’

‘Why should it take an hour to get there?’ ‘Most of the way is snowed under. The car might skid if we try to do anything other than crawl.’ Then Feluda said to Lalmohan Babu, ‘Wear all your warm clothes. This place we’re going to is a thousand feet higher than Simla. The snow there is a lot worse.’ Lalmohan Babu put a spoonful of soup into his mouth, slurping noisily, and asked, ‘Is a sherpa going to accompany us?’ I nearly burst out laughing, but Feluda kept a straight face. ‘No,’ he said seriously, ‘there is actually a road that leads up there. We’ll be going in a car.’ We finished our soup and were waiting for the next course, when Feluda spoke again. ‘What happened to your weapon?’ he asked Lalmohan Babu. ‘I have it with me,’ Lalmohan Babu replied, chewing a bread stick, ‘haven’t had the chance to show it to you, have I?’ ‘What is it?’ ‘A boomerang.’ Ah, that made sense. I had been wondering why he had shouted ‘boomerang!’ in his sleep. ‘Where did you get a thing like that?’ ‘An Australian was selling some of his stuff. He had put an advertisement in the paper. There were many other interesting things, but I couldn’t resist this one. I have heard that if you can throw it correctly, it would hit your target and return to you.’ ‘No, that’s not quite true. It would come back to you only if it misses the target, not if it hits it.’ ‘Well yes, you may be right. But let me tell you one thing. It’s damn difficult to throw it. I tried from my terrace, and it went and broke a flower pot on the balcony of the house opposite. Thank goodness, those people knew me and were kind enough to return my weapon without making a fuss about their flower pot.’ ‘Please don’t forget to take it with you today.’ Lalmohan Babu’s eyes began to shine with excitement. ‘Are you expecting trouble?’ ‘Well, I can’t guarantee anything, can I? After all, whoever has been trying to steal that diamond hasn’t yet got it, has he?’ Feluda spoke lightly, but I could see he was not totally easy in his mind. At five to three, a blue Ambassador drove up and stopped before the main entrance. ‘Here’s our taxi,’ said Feluda and stood up. Lalmohan Babu and I followed suit. The driver was a local man, young and well built. Feluda joined him on the front seat, clutching Mr Dhameeja’s (fake) attaché case. Jatayu and I sat at the back. The boomerang was hidden inside Jatayu’s voluminous overcoat. I had taken a good look at it. It was