Two days after the murder, Inspector Dattagupta rang Feluda. He had a lot to say. Anikendra Som, it turned out, used to teach at the Kanpur IIT. He had no family there, but the police had located a brother in Calcutta, who had identified the body. Apparently, Mr Som was a loner. He was barely in touch with his relations, although his brother agreed that he had always been a brave and honest man. Secondly, there were no fingerprints on the kukri. But it was possible to tell from the way it had been used that the murderer was left-handed. The shop in the Grand Hotel had confirmed that the weapon had indeed been sold by them, to one Mr Batra. He was staying in the hotel and had left for Kathmandu by the nine o’clock flight the same morning Mr Som was killed. Finally, Anikendra Som’s name could not be found on the list of passengers on the flight from Kanpur. However, the police had checked the passenger lists of all other flights that came in on Sunday, and discovered that Mr Som’s name featured on the Kathmandu-Calcutta flight. It had reached Dum Dum at 5.30 p.m. Mahim Babu finished by saying, ‘Since the culprit seems to have escaped to Nepal, there’s nothing we can do from here. The case will have to be passed on to the CID (homicide), and the Home Department. Once the Home Department gives the go-ahead, the government of Nepal can be requested to help with enquiries. If they agree, a man from the CID will travel to Kathmandu.’ Feluda said only one thing before replacing the receiver, ‘Best of luck!’ Feluda sank into silence after this and, for the next couple of days, said virtually nothing. But I could tell that he was thinking deeply and trying to work something out, from the way he paced in his room, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly, and occasionally throwing himself on his bed, only to stare at the ceiling. On the second day, Lalmohan Babu arrived in the evening and stayed for nearly two hours, but Feluda did not utter a single word. In the end, Lalmohan Babu told me what he had come to say. ‘You know what, Tapesh,’ he began, ‘I’ve just been to see a palmist. His name is Moulinath Bhattacharya. An amazing man. He doesn’t just read palms, but also does his own research. And his theories are fantastic. According to him, monkeys, like human beings, have lines on their palms and it is possible to read them. So he spoke to the curator of the local zoo and actually went into the cage of a chimpanzee. Apparently, it was a very well-mannered and well-trained animal. Mouli Babu took ten minutes to look carefully at his palms, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. Only, as Mouli Babu turned to go, the chimp stretched out a hand and pulled his trousers down. But that might have been an

accident, don’t you think? Anyway, Mouli Babu says this animal will live until August 1983. I’ve noted the date down in my diary. Thrilling, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘if his prediction comes true, it will be remarkable. But what did he tell you about yourself?’ ‘Oh, something very interesting. Five years ago, another palmist had told me I’d never travel abroad. Mouli Babu said I would, most definitely.’ As things turned out, Lalmohan Babu was not disappointed. Feluda broke his silence the next day, saying over breakfast, ‘Do you know what my heart’s been telling me, Topshe? It keeps saying all roads lead to Nepal. And some of them are long and winding. So I think it’s time for Felu Mitter to pay a visit to Kathmandu.’ It took us three days to make all the arrangements. The three of us were booked on an Indian Airlines flight. Our travel agent also made hotel reservations in Kathmandu. ‘Do you think Batra number two has returned to Kathmandu?’ I asked Feluda one day. ‘Possibly. You heard what Mahim Babu said. If a criminal manages to escape to another country, he can be quite safe until the two governments come to an agreement. And that can take ages. Criminals in the USA try to cross the border into Mexico. It’s the same story between India and Nepal.’ Lalmohan Babu turned up the day before we were to leave to say that he had seen the ‘fake’ Mr Batra near Lenin Sarani, having a glass of lassi. Feluda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was he holding the glass in his left hand?’ he asked. ‘Eh heh—I didn’t notice that!’ ‘In that case, your statement has no value at all.’ The officer who checked us in at the airport happened to know Feluda. ‘I’ll give you seats on the right,’ he said. ‘You’ll get a good view.’ But I had no idea just how good the view could be. Within ten minutes of leaving Calcutta, I could see Kanchenjunga glittering on our right—a sight as rare as it was breathtaking. This was followed by glimpses of several other famous peaks, each of which, I knew, held an irresistible attraction for adventurous mountaineers. We were still looking out of the window, transfixed, when an air hostess stopped by Feluda’s seat and said, ‘Captain Mukherjee, the pilot, would like to see you in the cockpit.’ Feluda unfastened his seat belt and stood up. ‘Can my friends go too, when I get back?’ he asked. The air hostess smiled. ‘Why don’t all of you come with me?’ she said. The cockpit was too small for us all to get inside, but what I saw from the top of Feluda’s shoulder was enough to make me give an involuntary gasp. Lalmohan Babu was peering from the other side. He later described his feeling’ as one of ‘speechless, breathless, enchanting, captivating wonder’. A row of peaks formed a wall in the distance. The closer we got, the bigger they seemed. The co- pilot laid