We had been warned that customs officials in Nepal were very strict. Apparently, every single passenger was required to have all his baggage examined. Lalmohan Babu, I noticed, was looking somewhat uneasy. This surprised me since I knew none of us was carrying anything suspicious. On being questioned, he said, ‘I brought a little aam papad in a tiffin box. Suppose they object?’ They didn’t. Lalmohan Babu relaxed, turned towards the exit, and froze. I followed his gaze and saw why. One of the two Batras was standing near the door, talking to a tall, white man with a beard. It turned out to be the real Mr Batra. His face broke into a smile as he caught sight of Feluda. He said ‘Excuse me’ to his companion and came forward to greet us. ‘Welcome to Kathmandu!’ he said. ‘I felt I had to come,’ Feluda explained. ‘Very good, very good.’ Mr Batra shook our hands. ‘I don’t think that other man followed me back here. There hasn’t been any problem in the last few days. How long are you here for?’ ‘About a week.’ ‘Where are you staying?’ ‘Hotel Lumbini.’ ‘It’s a new hotel, and quite good. If you want to go sightseeing, I can make all the arrangements for you. My office is only five minutes from your hotel.’ ‘Thank you. By the way, do you get Indian newspapers here? Did you see this?’ Feluda took out a cutting from the Statesman and handed it to Mr Batra. It was a report on the murder of Mr Som. Mr Batra read it quickly, then looked up, his eyes filled with apprehension. ‘What that report does not say,’ Feluda told him, ‘is that a man called Batra bought that Nepali kukri from the shop in the Grand Hotel. The police had this verified.’ ‘Oh my God!’ Mr Batra went very pale. ‘You didn’t know Anikendra Som, did you?’ ‘No, never heard of him.’ ‘He travelled on the same plane as you.’ ‘From Kathmandu? Nepal Airlines?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then maybe I’d have recognized him if I saw him, although—mind you—there were a hundred and thirty passengers on that flight.’ ‘Yes. Anyway, try and stay away from Calcutta for the moment,’ Feluda said lightly. ‘But why should anyone try to harass me like this, Mr Mitter?’ Mr Batra wailed.

‘Well, I can think of a good reason,’ Feluda said slowly. ‘If a criminal discovers that he has a look- alike, isn’t it natural for him to try and frame the other man, so that he himself can get away scot free?’ ‘All right, but this is no ordinary crime, Mr Mitter. We’re talking of murder!’ ‘I am convinced, Mr Batra, that the killer will return to Kathmandu. Anikendra Som had gone to Calcutta to seek my help. I do not know what he wanted me to do, but I won’t rest in peace until I’ve caught the man who murdered him. So if you, or anyone you know, sees this man who looks like you, I hope you’ll let me know immediately.’ ‘Oh yes, certainly. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but I’ll contact you the day after.’ We came out of the airport and got into a taxi. It was a Japanese Datsun, one of the many that could be seen on the clean, broad, beautiful roads of Kathmandu. Eucalyptus trees stood in neat rows by the sides of these roads. We passed a large park with a stadium in it. There were huge buildings everywhere, many of which had once been palaces owned by the Ranas. Some among them were Hindu and Buddhist temples, their spires towering over everything else. It was easy to see from the way Lalmohan Babu was rubbing his hands that he was already quite impressed by what he had seen in this foreign land. When Feluda told him that the king of Nepal was the only Hindu king in the world, and that Lumbini, where Lord Buddha was born, was in Nepal, his mouth parted and formed a silent ‘O’. Our taxi drove down Kanti Path and passed through a large and elaborately carved gate. A right turn brought us into New Road. Hotel Lumbini, together with many other hotels and rest houses, stood on one side of this road. Our taxi drew up near its front door. The first man we met as we were checking in turned out to be a Bengali. He rose from a sofa and came forward to greet us. ‘Did you come by the Indian Airlines flight?’ he addressed Lalmohan Babu. ‘Yes.’ ‘Is this your first visit to Nepal?’ ‘Yes. We’re on holiday,’ Lalmohan Babu replied with a sidelong glance at Feluda. ‘You must visit Pokhara, if you can.’ This time, Feluda spoke. ‘Do you live here?’ he asked. A bell boy, in the meantime, had taken our luggage upstairs. We were given two adjacent rooms on the second floor, numbers 226 and 227. ‘I am from Calcutta. I’ve come on a holiday with my family. My friend here lives in Kathmandu.’ I noticed for the first time that another elderly gentleman was sitting on the sofa. His skin was very fair, and his hair totally white. He was distinguished looking. He now rose and joined us. ‘His family has lived here for three hundred years,’ the first gentleman told us. ‘What!’ ‘Yes, you must get him to tell you his story.’ ‘Well, if you don’t mind, why don’t you come up to our room and join us for a cup of tea?’ said Feluda. ‘I am interested in Bengalis living in Nepal . . . for a specific reason, you see.’ I knew exactly what he meant. I also knew that Feluda didn’t normally invite people up to his room so soon after being introduced to them.

Feluda and I had been given a double room. All of us trooped into it, and Feluda rang room service for tea. Our guests formally introduced themselves. The gentleman