The telephone in our room began ringing at seven the following day. We were already up, sipping our bed tea. Feluda stretched out an arm and picked it up. I heard him say only two things before he put it down. ‘What!’ he said, and ‘I’ll be ready in five minutes.’ Then he turned to me and added, ‘Go and tell Lalmohan Babu to get ready. We have to go out at once.’ I did as I was told without asking questions. Where were we going? No one told me, until a couple of police jeeps arrived again, and we were told to get into the first one with Inspector Saha. It turned out that the constable who had gone to Nayanpur Villa early this morning to tell them about the meeting had learnt that Samiran Majumdar had received a phone call only fifteen minutes before the constable’s arrival. He had left for Siliguri, apparently on some urgent work. Since Feluda felt there would be no point in having the meeting without him, we were on our way to see if our jeep might catch up with his vehicle. I had never been driven at such speed on a winding, hilly road. Luckily, the driver seemed to be extremely skilful, and there was no mist today. We passed Ghoom, Sonada and Tung in half an hour. Normally, it would have taken us at least forty-five minutes. Inspector Saha had sent word to Kerseong and Siliguri, but it had not been possible to give the number of the taxi in which Samiran Babu was travelling. Trying to find its number would have taken up a lot of time, Inspector Saha said. We reached Kerseong fairly soon, but there was no sign of Samiran Majumdar’s taxi. ‘Take the short cut through Pankhabari,’ Inspector Saha said to the driver. Our jeep left the main road. The other one went ahead, following the regular route. It is impossible to describe just how winding the road to Pankhabari was. Lalmohan Babu shut his eyes, and said, ‘Let me know if you see the taxi. I’m not going to open my eyes if I can help it. I’d feel sick if I did.’ Fifteen minutes later, after going up a road that coiled itself like a snake round the hill, we came round a hairpin bend. Our driver pressed his foot hard on the brake, for there was a taxi standing almost in the middle of the road. Its driver was trying to change a punctured tyre, and Samiran Majumdar was standing some distance away, smoking impatiently. He seemed both startled and apprehensive at the sudden appearance of our jeep. All of us got out. Feluda and Inspector Saha strode ahead. ‘What . . . what is it?’ Samiran Babu asked, turning visibly pale. ‘Nothing,’ Feluda replied, ‘it’s just that there’s going to be a meeting in your own house at ten this morning. We feel you must be present there, and really it’s far more