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, we’d see hills. The bandits would arrive from the left, and the hero from the right. A little later, when the train was running faster, the jeep with the camera could be seen, travelling down the road. It was followed by the hero’s car. Now the hero was alone, his companions had gone.

The camera was facing him. Apart from the cameraman, there were three other men in the jeep. One of them was Mr Ghoshal’s assistant. He was speaking through a microphone, instructing the hero: ‘Look to your left!’ and ‘Now to your right!’ Mr Ghoshal himself was handling the second camera, which was placed inside one of the carriages. The third camera was on the roof of the last coach, towards the rear of the train. The hero wasn’t driving all that fast, which I found somewhat disappointing. But Feluda pointed out that, in the film, it would appear fast enough as the speed of the camera had been reduced to shoot this particular scene. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘that car isn’t moving as slowly as you seem to think, because it’s running to keep pace with our train; and the train is moving pretty fast, isn’t it?’ True. I hadn’t thought about that. In a few minutes, the hero’s car and the jeep passed our compartment and went further down the road. Since it was an old-fashioned carriage, there were no bars on the windows. I wanted to lean out and see how the remaining scene was being shot, but Feluda stopped me. ‘How do you suppose you’d feel if you went to see Jet Bahadur at a cinema, and found yourself on the screen, leaning out of a train?’ I had to resist the temptation to poke my head out. Then I decided to get up and sit near a window on the opposite side. The scent of Gulbahar hit my nostrils as soon as I got to my feet. Suddenly, I realized that Feluda was no longer by my side. He had sprung up and moved to the opposite end of the carriage. His eyes were fixed on the door to the bathroom, and his hand was in his jacket pocket. ‘It’s no use, Mr Mitter. Don’t take out your gun—a revolver is already pointed at you!’ said a voice. The door on our left opened. A man entered and stood blocking the exit. In his hand was a revolver. Where had I seen him before? Oh, of course, this was Mr Red Shirt! But today he was wearing different clothes, and there was a vicious expression on his face that had been absent that day when we’d seen him at the airport. Looking at him now, I had no doubt in my mind that this man was a killer, and he would kill without the slightest qualm. His revolver was aimed straight at Feluda. The door to the bathroom, which was ajar, opened fully and the whole compartment was filled with the scent of Gulbahar.