Gulmarg was totally different from Srinagar. There were no lakes, or rivers or gardens. What it had was soft, smooth, velvety grass on meadows and slopes, spread over a range of mountains, like rippling green waves. Then there were pine forests and a handful of wooden houses dotted over the valley. It looked as pretty as a picture. In the summer, golfers arrived to play golf in Gulmarg. In the winter, the same slopes, covered with snow, offered skiing. We had taken a taxi up to Tangmarg, which was twenty-eight miles from Srinagar. The last four miles to Gulmarg had to be covered on horseback. Lalmohan Babu had been duly warned before leaving Calcutta about the possibility of riding a horse. ‘Don’t worry, it’s easier than riding a camel,’ Feluda had told him. None of us could ever forget his plight in Rajasthan when he had been forced to ride a camel, many years ago. Thus reassured, Lalmohan Babu had gone to the extent of bringing proper riding breeches. Now, as he dismounted, he declared there was nothing to riding a horse, it was a piece of cake. As planned, Mr Mallik and the others had travelled with us. We were all going to spend the night here, then go to Khilanmarg in the morning. Khilanmarg was another three miles away and two thousand feet above Gulmarg. Then we would return to Srinagar. We had been given two adjoining cabins to stay the night. Ours was smaller than Mr Mallik’s. Three members of his team turned up to see us in the evening, as we were sitting out on our balcony, sipping tea. We recognized two of them—they were Sushant Som and Mr Mallik’s son, Vijay. But the third man was a total stranger. A good-looking man, he must have been in his early thirties. All three appeared to be in the same age group. ‘Allow me to introduce him,’ Mr Som said. ‘This is Arun Sarkar. He is a businessman from Calcutta, but we got to know him in Srinagar. He is one of the gamblers. That should make it easier to place him!’ Everyone laughed. ‘Perhaps you can guess why we are here,’ Mr Som went on. ‘Both these men were eager to meet a real-life private investigator. Mr Ganguli here is a famous writer, too, isn’t he?’ Lalmohan Babu tried to smile modestly. ‘Tell us about some of your cases,’ Vijay Mallik said to Feluda. ‘We’re really interested.’ Feluda had to oblige. When he had finished describing a couple of his best-known cases, Arun Sarkar asked, ‘Is this your first visit to Kashmir?’ ‘Yes. When I saw you, Mr Sarkar, I thought you were a Kashmiri yourself. Have you visited Kashmir many times?’ ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I spent a few years of my childhood in Srinagar. My father was the manager of a hotel. Then we left Srinagar and went to Calcutta more than twenty years ago.’ ‘Can you speak the local language?’

‘A