‘Do sit down,’ Maganlal invited, switching the video off. Lalmohan Babu and I sat down on a settee, Feluda took a chair. ‘Well, Mr Mitter?’ Feluda said nothing. Like me, he was looking straight at Maganlal. He hadn’t changed much in these few years. He was still wearing a dhoti and a sherwani. The latter had clearly been made by an expert tailor. What had changed, of course, were his surroundings. A dark and dingy house in a narrow alley in Benaras was a far cry indeed from this luxurious suite in a five star hotel. ‘This time, I hope, you are on a real holiday, Mr Mitter?’ Maganlal asked. ‘No, Maganlalji, not really,’ Feluda said pleasantly. ‘Some people are just not destined to have a holiday without having to mix business with pleasure. I am one of them.’ ‘What business have you got here, Mr Mitter?’ Maganlal picked up a telephone. ‘Tea or coffee? You can get the best quality Darjeeling tea here.’ ‘In that case, let’s have tea.’ Maganlal rang room service, ordered tea for all of us and turned to Feluda again. ‘You are a big hero in India, Mr Mitter. But Nepal is a foreign country. Do you know many people here?’ ‘Well, I seem to have found at least one person I know!’ Maganlal smiled wryly. His eyes did not move from Feluda’s face. ‘Are you surprised to find me here?’ ‘Yes, I am, a little,’ Feluda lit a Charminar. ‘Not to find you outside the prison—I realize you have all the right connections to have organized an early release—but to see you outside Benaras.’ ‘Why? Benaras is a holy place, and so is Kathmandu. We have Baba Vishwanath there, and here’s Pashupatinath. My karma, you see, is related to places of dharma! What do you say, Uncle?’ ‘He heh!’ Lalmohan Babu tried to laugh. I could see he had gone visibly pale. All the horrors of Arjun’s knife-throwing must have come rushing back. ‘You talk of your karma, Maganlalji,’ said Feluda casually. ‘Would that by any chance involve drugs and medicines?’ A cold shiver ran down my spine. How could Feluda be so reckless? ‘Drugs? Medicines? What are you talking about?’ Maganlal sounded perfectly taken aback. ‘If you have nothing to do with them, then do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’ ‘No, not at all. But we must have a fair exchange.’ ‘All right. You go first.’ ‘It’s all very simple, Mr Mitter. I am an art dealer—you know I like statues and paintings, don’t you? Many houses in Nepal are crammed with such stuff. My job is to collect them.’ Feluda remained silent. I could hear Lalmohan Babu breathing heavily. ‘Now you tell me about yourself.’

‘I don’t think you’ve been entirely honest with me,’ Feluda replied, ‘but I am going to be quite frank. I am here to investigate a murder.’ ‘Murder?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You mean the murder of Mr Som?’ I gaped. Lalmohan Babu drew in his breath sharply. Only Feluda’s face remained expressionless. ‘Yes, that’s right, Maganlalji,’ he said coolly. ‘Mr Anikendra Som.’ A waiter came in with the tea. He placed the tray on a table in front of Maganlal. ‘It is my belief,’ Feluda continued when the waiter had gone, ‘that Mr Som had started to cause some concern to a certain individual. So he had to be removed from the scene.’ Maganlal began pouring. ‘One or two?’ he asked me, holding the sugar pot. It was filled with sugar cubes. ‘One, please,’ I replied. Maganlal dropped a cube in my cup and passed it to me. Then he turned to Lalmohan Babu, who was eyeing the cubes with open suspicion. I knew he was thinking of hippies and LSD. ‘What about you. Uncle.’ Two? Three?’ ‘N-no, no.’ ‘No sugar at all?’ ‘No, th-thank you.’ I looked at him in surprise. We all knew he had a sweet tooth. ‘You amaze me, Uncle,’ Maganlal said with a slight smile. ‘Why are you saying no?’ This time, Lalmohan Babu gave me a sidelong glance and said, ‘OK. One, please.’ Perhaps the fact that I had accepted a cube gave him courage. Feluda, too, was given one. He went on speaking, ‘I think Mr Som had unearthed an illegal racket. He had gone to Calcutta to make further enquiries, and to meet me. He was killed before he could do so. Since you appear to know about the murder, naturally one would wish to know if you are involved in any way in this case.’ Maganlal stared at Feluda for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, his lips contorted in a twisted smile. Lalmohan Babu and I sipped our tea. It really was the very best Darjeeling tea anyone could get. ‘Jagdeesh!’ Maganlal shouted suddenly. I couldn’t help but start. A door behind Maganlal opened and a man came into the room silently. Lalmohan Babu put his cup down on the table with a clatter. The man called Jagdeesh standing behind Maganlal was the second Mr Batra. There were very slight differences in his appearance which were apparent only because we could watch him, for the first time, at close quarters. His eyes were lighter than our Mr Batra’s, his hair was greyer, and—most important of all—the look in his eyes held not even a glimmer of warmth. ‘Do you know this man?’ asked Maganlal. ‘We haven’t met him, but we know him by sight.’ ‘Then listen carefully, Mr Private Investigator. Do not harass Jagdeesh. I know you have been trying to track him down ever since you arrived. I will not tolerate your interference, Mr Mitter. Jagdeesh is my right-hand man.’ ‘Even though he is left-handed?’

Feluda was still speaking lightly. Before Maganlal could say anything, he asked another question. ‘Are you aware that there is a gentleman who looks almost exactly like your Jagdeesh?’ Maganlal frowned darkly. ‘Yes, Mr Mitter. I know that. If this other man is a friend of yours, tell him to take