It seemed cooler the following morning, so Baba told me to wrap a muffler round my throat. I could tell from his frown and preoccupied air that he was deeply worried. Dhiru Kaka had left the house very early in the morning without telling anyone where he was going. After yesterday’s incident, he had said only one thing over and over: ‘How will I now face Srivastava?’ Baba had tried to comfort him by saying: ‘But it wasn’t your fault! How were, you to know the thief would turn up in your absence dressed as a sadhu? Why don’t you go to the police? Didn’t you say you knew Inspector Gargari?’ So it could be that Dhiru Kaka had gone to inform the police. Baba said over breakfast: ‘I had thought of taking you to the Residency. But perhaps it’s best that I stay in today. You two can go out for a while, if you like.’ I nearly smiled at this, for Feluda had already said he’d like to explore the place on foot and I had decided to join him. I knew what he had in mind was something other than just aimless walking. His eyes had taken on a steely glint since last night. We left shortly after eight. As soon as we were out of the house, Feluda said, ‘Let me warn you, Topshe. If you talk or ask too many questions, I’ll send you back. Just keep your mouth shut and walk by my side.’ ‘But what if Dhiru Kaka informs the police?’ ‘So what if he does?’ ‘Suppose they catch the thief before you?’ ‘No matter. I’ll change my name, that’s all.’ Dhiru Kaka lived on Frazer Road. It was a quiet street, with houses which had large gardens on either side. It led to Dupling Road. Unlike Calcutta, all roads in Lucknow were clearly marked. There was a paan shop at the corner where Dupling Road joined Park Road. Feluda ambled towards this shop. ‘Can I have a meetha (sweet) paan?’ he asked. ‘Yes, babu, I’ll make you one with special masala,’ said the paanwalla. ‘Thank you.’ The paan was duly handed to him. Feluda paid for it, put it in his mouth and said, ‘Look, I am new to this town. Can you tell me where can I find the Ramakrishna Mission?’ ‘Ramakrishna Mishir?’ ‘No, no. Ramakrishna Mission. I’ve heard that a great sadhu is visiting Lucknow and is staying at the Ramakrishna Mission.’ The paanwalla shook his head and muttered something I couldn’t catch. But we got some information from another source.

A man with a huge moustache was lying on a string bed nearby, singing merrily and beating an old rusted tin. He now stopped singing and said, ‘Would that be a bearded sadhubaba? Wearing dark glasses? Yesterday I spoke to such a man. He asked me where the nearest tonga stand was, and I showed him.’ ‘Where is it?’ ‘Five minutes from here. Just after that crossing, you can see a whole row of tongas.’ ‘Shukriya,’ said Feluda. ‘That was “thank you” in Urdu,’ he said to me as an aside. I had never heard the word before. The eighth tongawalla we asked admitted that a bearded, saffron-clad man had indeed hired his tonga the previous evening. ‘Where did you take him?’ ‘Istishan,’ said the tongawalla. ‘You mean the railway station?’ ‘Yes, yes.’ ‘How much do you charge to get there?’ ‘Seventy-five paise.’ ‘And how long does it take?’ ‘Ten minutes.’ ‘If I pay you a whole rupee, can you get us to the station in eight minutes? Now?’ ‘Why, have you a train to catch?’ ‘Yes, the best train in the world. The Imperial Express!’ The tongawalla grinned, foolishly and said, ‘All right. I’ll get you there in eight minutes.’ On our way, I asked a little hesitantly, ‘Do you think the sadhu is still waiting at the station clutching that ring?’ At this, Feluda glared at me so furiously that I promptly shut up. A little later, he asked our driver, ‘Did the sadhubaba have any luggage?’ The driver thought for a minute and said, ‘Yes, I think he had a case. But not a large one.’ ‘I see.’ On reaching the station, we began asking all the likely people who might remember having seen the sadhu. But those at the ticket booth or the gate couldn’t help; nor could the porters. The manager of a restaurant at the railway station said, ‘Are you talking about Pavitrananda Thakur? The one who lives in Dehra Dun? He arrived only three days ago. He couldn’t have gone back so early. Besides, he always travels with a huge entourage.’ At last, the chowkidar of the first-class waiting-room said he had seen a man who fitted our description. ‘Did he sit here in the waiting-room?’ ‘No, he didn’t.’ ‘Well?’ ‘He went into the bathroom. He was carrying a small case.’ ‘What happened then?’ ‘I don’t know, babu. I didn’t see him after that.’ ‘Were you here throughout?’

‘Yes. The Doon Express was about to arrive. There were a lot of people here. I didn’t leave the room at all.’ ‘Perhaps you didn’t notice him again.’ ‘Well—all right, perhaps I didn’t.’ But the man looked as though what he really wanted to say was that if the sadhubaba had come out of the bathroom, he would certainly have seen him. If that was the case, where had the sadhu disappeared? We came out of the station. Here, too, stood a row of tongas. We got into one. I was beginning to look upon these contraptions with a new respect. The last one had taken exactly seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds to reach the station. I couldn’t help asking another question as we set off. ‘Did the sadhubaba simply vanish in the bathroom?’ ‘Yes, he might have done,’ said Feluda. ‘Sadhus and sannyasis in the olden days could disappear at will—or so I’ve heard.’ I knew he wasn’t serious, but he spoke with