Lalmohan babu returned the following Sunday. Feluda had decided, in the meantime, that he’d offer to meet half the expenses for our travel to Bombay. He had made a little money recently—not only from the cases he’d handled, but also from writing. In the last three months he had translated two books written in English (both were travelogues written by famous travellers in the nineteenth century) and been paid an advance. I had seen him write before in his free time. This was the first time he had done it seriously. Lalmohan babu rejected his offer outright. ‘Are you mad?’ he asked. ‘In the matter of writing, sir, you are my god and godfather. If I am willing to meet your expenses, it is only out of gratitude. Treat it as your fee!’ So saying, he took out two aeroplane tickets from his pocket and placed them on the table. ‘The flight is at 10.45 on Tuesday morning. We have to check in an hour before that. I will meet you at the airport.’ ‘When is the shooting going to start?’ ‘Thursday. They’re starting with the climax—that scene with the horse, a car and a train.’ Lalmohan babu had another piece of news for us. ‘Yesterday, Feluda babu, something interesting happened in the evening. A film producer here in Calcutta turned up at my house. He has an office in Dharamtala, he said. He’d got my address from the publishers. Said he wanted to make a film from my Bandits ! It seems no Bengali film has a chance, unless it shows the same things you see in Hindi films. I had to tell him my story was already sold, which seemed to disappoint him no end. Mind you, he hadn’t read the book himself, but had heard about it from a nephew. He was surprised to hear I’d written it without ever having visited Bombay. I didn’t tell him I couldn’t have done it without Murray’s Guide to India, and Felu Mitter’s guidance.’ ‘Was he a Bengali?’ ‘Yes. Sanyal. He spoke with a slight accent, said he was brought up in Jabalpur. And he was wearing some strong perfume—God, it nearly burnt my nose! I didn’t know a man could wear so much perfume. Anyway, when he heard I was off to Bombay, he gave me an address. Said it was his friend’s. This friend is supposed to be most helpful. I was free to contact him any time I wanted to.’ Although Calcutta can get quite cold in December, I’d heard that Bombay would remain warm. So we didn’t have to pack warm clothes, and everything we needed fitted into two small suitcases. On Tuesday, I woke to find everything hidden in thick fog. Our neighbour’s house across the road was barely visible. Oh God, would our plane be able to take off on time? Strangely enough, by nine o’clock the fog lifted and a dazzling sun came out. VIP Road, which ran all the way to the