In the end, Lalmohan babu did not shave off his moustache. When I asked him the following morning if he had slept well, he told me he hadn’t because each time he began nodding off, it seemed to him as if his entire room was moving up and down like a lift, and he woke with a start. Mr Ghoshal had called us the previous night and told us that he’d collect us at ten o’clock to take us to his studio. We finished our breakfast at eight, then went for a walk down Peddar Road, where we found a paan shop. We bought some paan filled with sweet masala, and returned to the hotel. As soon as we entered the lobby, we could all feel an air of suppressed excitement. The reason was simple. The local police had decided to pay a visit to our hotel. A man in uniform, who looked like an inspector, was standing at the reception desk. One of the men behind the counter made a gesture as we approached. The inspector wheeled around and glanced at Lalmohan babu. Although the look in his eyes wasn’t even remotely hostile, I heard a faint click beside me, which meant that Lalmohan babu’s knees were knocking against each other. The inspector came forward, a smile on his face. Feluda placed a hand on Lalmohan babu’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, to let him know that there was nothing to worry about. ‘I am Inspector Patwardhan from the CID. You are Mr Ganguli?’ ‘Ye-ye-yess.’ Patwardhan looked at Feluda. ‘And you are—?’ Feluda took out one of his cards and handed it to Patwardhan. The inspector read it, then looked inquiringly at Feluda again. ‘Mitter? Are you the same Mitter who helped save that statue in Ellora?’ Feluda gave his famous lopsided smile and nodded. ‘Glad to meet you, sir,’ Patwardhan said, offering his hand, ‘you did a very good job there.’ Lalmohan babu could now relax a little. As Feluda’s friend, his status had certainly improved. Nevertheless, he had to answer a number of questions. We went to the manager’s room to have a chat. Patwardhan told us that various fingerprints had been found on the body, but the police hadn’t yet made any arrests. The man in the red shirt had been traced back to the airport. The police had tracked down the taxi he had used, but did not know who the man was. They believed the murder had been committed by the same man, and the piece of paper with Lalmohan babu’s name on it had slipped out of his pocket. What Lalmohan babu told him simply confirmed this belief. Patwardhan said, ‘It was clear that he had gone to the airport to meet a Mr Ganguli. We checked the passenger list of every plane that landed at Santa Cruz yesterday, until we found your name on the Calcutta flight. Then we made enquiries at all the hotels, and finally learned that a