It grew darker soon after we left. But it was only 4.25 p.m. Surely the sun wasn’t setting already? I looked at the sky, and found the reason. The light grey clouds had turned into heavy, black ones. Please God, don’t let it rain. The road was already slippery. Since we were now going to go downhill, the chances of skidding were greater. The only good thing was that traffic was virtually nonexistent, so there was no fear of crashing into another car. Feluda was sitting next to the driver. I couldn’t see his face, but could tell that he was still frowning. And I also knew what he was thinking. Either Dinanath Babu or Mr Dhameeja had lied to us. Mr Dhameeja’s living-room had been full of books. Perhaps he knew the name of Shambhucharan. An account of a visit to Tibet fifty years ago—and that, too, written in English—might well have been a temptation. It was not totally impossible, was it? But if the manuscript was with Mr Dhameeja, how on earth would Feluda ever retrieve it? Clearly, there were two mysteries now. One involved the diamond, and the other the missing manuscript. What if such a terrible tangle proved too much to unravel, even for Feluda? The temperature had dropped further. I could see my breath condensing all the time. Lalmohan Babu undid the top button of his overcoat, slipped his hand in and said, ‘Even the boomerang feels stone cold. It comes from a warm country, doesn’t it? I hope it’ll work here in this climate.’ I opened my mouth to tell him there were places in Australia where it snowed, but had to shut it. Our car had come to a complete halt. And the reason was simple. A black Ambassador blocked our way. About a hundred yards away, diagonally across the road, stood this other car, making it impossible for us to proceed. When the loud blowing of our horn did not help, it became obvious that something was wrong. The driver of the other car was nowhere in sight. Feluda placed a hand on the steering wheel and quietly told the driver to move his car to one side, closer to the hill. The driver did this without a word. Then all four of us got out and stepped on to the slushy path. Everything was very quiet. Not even the twitter of a bird broke the eerie silence. What was most puzzling was that there was neither a driver nor a passenger in the black car. Who would place a car across the road like that and then abandon it totally? We were making our way very cautiously along the tyre marks on the snow, when a sudden splashing noise made Lalmohan Babu give a violent start, stumble and go sprawling on the snow. He landed flat on his face. I knew the noise had been caused by a chunk of thawing ice that had dislodged itself from a branch. In the