Hotel Kanchenjunga turned out to be quite neat and clean. Each room had a telephone and a heater, the bathroom had running hot water, the linen was crisp and spotless—in short, it was a place that cheered one up instantly. We were going to be in Darjeeling for ten days. If the place we were going to stay in wasn’t reasonably satisfactory, it could become a serious irritant. Our journey had been eventless. Lalmohan Babu had taken out his Rajasthani leather-and-wool cap on reaching Sonada and put it on. ‘To protect my head and ears,’ he explained. Then he began to concentrate on the scenery, and said ‘Beautiful!’ at least a million times. Finally, over a cup of tea in the Kerseong railway restaurant, he made an honest confession. This was his first visit to Darjeeling, he told us. ‘What!’ Feluda raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean you have never seen Kanchenjunga?’ ‘No, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu admitted, sticking his tongue out in embarrassment. ‘Oh God, how I envy you!’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because you’ve no idea what a treat is in store for you. Only you among the three of us will get to experience the tremendous impact of seeing Kanchenjunga for the first time. You are very lucky, Mr Ganguli.’ It was possible to see Kanchenjunga even from Kerseong, if the sky was clear. But it had been quite cloudy today. By the time we reached Ghoom, daylight had started to fade and the clouds hadn’t gone. Lalmohan Babu had, therefore, not yet had his treat. This was, of course, a special feature of visiting Darjeeling. Even at the end of one’s holiday, Kanchenjunga could well remain unseen. If that happened, I would certainly be extremely disappointed. I had seen it before, but was very anxious to see it again. This was an experience that one could never get tired of. We left our luggage in the hotel and went out for a walk. We had to walk uphill for about five minutes before we reached the Mall. It was dark by this time, and the streetlights had been switched on. The shops in the Mall were also lit up. ‘Felu Babu, why aren’t there any cars anywhere?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, puzzled. ‘Cars and other vehicles aren’t allowed to run in many parts of Darjeeling. The Mall is one such place. You can walk here, or ride a horse. Have you ever ridden before?’ ‘N-no. But then, I have taken a ride on a camel, haven’t I? A horse would be child’s play in comparison, surely?’ A little later, we ran into Mr Birupaksha Majumdar. The film crew were out for a walk, like ourselves. Pulak Ghoshal strode forward to meet us. He was accompanied by a gentleman wearing a suit and a felt hat. This is Mr Majumdar,’ he said, ‘we’re going to shoot a part of the film in his house.

He’s very kindly given us his permission. And these are—’ Pulak Babu finished making the introductions. ‘What have you to do with the shooting?’ Mr Majumdar asked, looking at Feluda. ‘To be honest, nothing at all. But this friend of mine writes crime thrillers. The story the film is based on was written by him.’ ‘Very good. He writes crime stories, and you are an investigator. That’s a wonderful combination. I seem to have heard your name before. Has it come out in the papers a few times?’ ‘Er . . . yes. I helped solve a case in Bosepukur last year. This was reported in the press.’ ‘That’s right. That’s why your name sounded so familiar. You see, I collect press cuttings; not routine ordinary stuff, but if the news has a touch of drama about it, it goes into my collection. ‘This has been my hobby since I was seventeen. I have thirty-one scrapbooks. Now that I’m retired, I spend some of my time turning the pages of these scrapbooks, just as some people read old books. But now I’ve got a helper. Rajat—my secretary— cuts out the pieces I want and pastes them for me. That’s how I’ve got the cuttings that I mentioned to you.’ By this time, we had passed the fountain that stood in one end of the Mail, and had started to walk towards the main road. ‘I have run out of my medicine,’ Mr Majumdar said. ‘Why don’t you come with me to the chemist?’ We accompanied him to the shop just across the road. What he bought turned out to be pills called Trofnil. The chemist handed him thirty-one of these, sealed in aluminium foil. ‘It is an anti-depressant,’ Mr Majumdar told us. ‘I cannot sleep unless I take one of these. What I’ve got here will last me a month.’ We came out of the shop. ‘I’d like to visit you one day and look at some of your scrapbooks,’ Feluda said. ‘Oh, sure. You are most welcome. I can even show you reports on cases that haven’t yet been solved. These go back twenty years.’ ‘How interesting!’ ‘But then, my life is no less interesting. Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing an autobiography, but then I tell myself it wouldn’t be of any use, since I couldn’t obviously tell all my stories exactly the way they happened. An autobiography should be totally honest, devoid of secrets and lies. At least, that’s my belief. Anyway you must come and visit me one day.’ ‘We’d love to. When is the best time for you?’ ‘In the morning. I normally go for a walk in the evening. If you go beyond Mount Everest Hotel, you’ll find a road that goes up the hill. You have to take this road. I think you’ll find my house easily enough—it’s a bungalow called Nayanpur Villa. There’s a large garden around it.’ Mr Majumdar raised his hand In farewell and left. We saw him get on a horse. There was a man to help him. ‘Perhaps his doctors don’t allow him to walk