An old-fashioned engine came into view, huffing and puffing, blowing thick black smoke. Behind it were eight coaches. It stopped at the level crossing at exactly five minutes to one. Even from a distance, we could see that there was only one first-class compartment. Other coaches already had passengers in them— they had been planted there when the train left Matheran. There were men, women and children, both young and old. Mr Ghoshal became extremely busy as soon as the train arrived. We could see him rushing from one camera to another, from the hero to the villain, and from one assistant here to another assistant there. Even Lalmohan babu was forced to admit that it wasn’t simply the producer’s money that made a film. Arjun Mehrotra—the hero—was ready. He was at the wheel of his car, wearing sunglasses. Beside him sat his make-up man, and two other men, possibly hangers-on. A jeep with an open top was ready, too. In it stood a camera on a tripod. Victor and his men had already departed with their horses. They would wait for a signal from the moving train, and then ride down a particular hill. Then they would be seen galloping alongside the train. I saw Micky go towards the engine, accompanied by one of Mr Ghoshal’s assistants. We didn’t know what to do. There was no sign of Mr Gore. Was he on the train? There was no way to tell. The crowd had dispersed by now, but no one had told us what to do. Lalmohan babu began to get restless. ‘What’s going on, Feluda babu? Have we been totally forgotten?’ he asked. ‘Well, we were told to get into a first-class compartment, and there is only one such coach. So we should get into it . . . but let’s wait for two more minutes.’ Before those two minutes were up, the engine blew its whistle, and we heard Sudarshan Das call out to us: ‘I say, gentlemen! This way!’ We ran towards the first class carriage, clutching our bags. Mr Das went with us up to the door to the carriage. ‘I knew nothing of the arrangements,’ he said. ‘Someone just told me Mr Gore will arrive in half an hour. After the first shot, this train is going to return here.’ We got into the compartment, to be greeted by a large flask standing on a bench, together with four white cardboard boxes. The name of the Safari Restaurant was printed on every box. In other words, it was our lunch. I was surprised by Mr Gore’s care and attention, in spite of his being so busy. There was another whistle, then the train started with a jerk. All of us got ready to watch the activities outside. This was going to be a totally new experience, so I was feeling quite excited. The train was now gathering speed. A road ran by the track on the right hand side. On our left, very soon,