We had to take the Doon Express to get to Haridwar. It left Lucknow in the evening and reached Haridwar at 4.30 a.m. When Baba had mentioned a possible visit to Haridwar before we left Calcutta, I had been pleased. Puri was the only holy place I had seen. So the thought of seeing another was quite exciting. But now, after all this hullabaloo over the stolen ring, I did not feel like leaving Lucknow. Feluda, however, had not lost his enthusiasm. ‘You’ll see how interesting it is to go from Haridwar to Hrishikesh and then to Laxmanjhoola. The river is different in each place. The further north you go, the stronger it gets. In Laxmanjhoola, it gushes with such powerful turbulence that it’s practically impossible to have a conversation by its side.’ ‘Have you been to all these places?’ ‘Yes, I went to all three after my last visit to Lucknow.’ Dhiru Kaka himself drove us to the station. Almost as soon as we had moved into our coach with our baggage, Dr Srivastava turned up. Nice of him to have come to see us off. But no, a coolie was carrying his suitcase! We stared at him. ‘I had asked Dhiru Babu not to tell,’ Dr Srivastava laughed, as the coolie put the suitcase down. ‘He knew I wanted to go with you. Gave you a surprise, didn’t I?’ Baba seemed very pleased. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to come away, or I’d have asked you myself.’ Srivastava dusted one corner of a seat and sat down. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I’ve tried not to show it, but I have been upset by the loss of Pyarelal’s gift. So I thought, getting away from it all might do me some good.’ Bonobihari Babu arrived within five minutes, with rather a lot of luggage. He greeted everyone with a smile and said, ‘Stand by now for a spectacular event. Pavitrananda Swami is travelling in this train. His followers are coming to bid him farewell. Witness their devotion!’ A plump, saffron-clad figure arrived a little later, long hair flowing down his shoulders. He was accompanied by dozens of people with garlands in their hands. He got into the first-class coach next to ours. A few others crowded round the doorway. Presumably, all these were his devotees. There were just five minutes left before the train’s departure. We had all climbed into our own carriage. Dhiru Kaka was standing on the platform, chatting with Baba through an open window, when one of the men in saffron detached himself from the group and came walking towards Dhiru Kaka, a big smile on his face, his arm outstretched. ‘Dhiru? Do you remember me?’ Dhiru Kaka stared dumbly for a few seconds, then with a shout of joy strode forward and nearly hugged the other man. ‘Ambika! Is it really you? Goodness—why are you wearing these clothes?’

‘Why, I’ve been in saffron now for seven years!’ Dhiru Kaka introduced him. ‘Ambika and I were classmates in school. We last met each other about fifteen years ago.’ The guard blew his whistle. The wheels creaked into motion and we heard Ambika Babu tell his friend, ‘I went to your house the other day. You weren’t in, so I waited for nearly half-an-hour. Didn’t your bearer tell you?’ We couldn’t hear what Dhiru Kaka said in reply, for the train had gathered speed. Amazed, I looked first at Feluda, and then at Baba. Feluda’s brows were knitted in a deep frown. ‘Very strange!’ Baba said. ‘Had you been suspecting that gentleman of having stolen the ring?’ asked Bonobihari Babu. ‘Yes, but obviously that must now be ruled out. But then who took the ring? Where did it go?’ The train clanked out of the platform. I stared with unseeing eyes at the minarets on top of the station. They were beautiful, but I was in no mood to admire them. All my thoughts were confused. What was Feluda thinking? Was he feeling a little embarrassed? After all, he had run all the way to the station to trace the sadhubaba. But if the man we just saw talking with Dhiru Kaka was a perfectly genuine sannyasi, who was that other man with an attaché case? Had he been loitering outside Dhiru Kaka’s house the same evening? If so, was it because he knew about the ring, or was there a different reason? And who had thrown that piece of paper at Feluda with ‘Watch Out!’ written on it? Was Feluda asking himself the same questions? I looked at him again and found him deeply engrossed in reading his blue notebook with the Greek scribbles and, occasionally, making further notes. Bonobihari Babu suddenly turned to Dr Srivastava and asked, ‘Tell me, Doctor, were you the last person to see Pyarelal alive?’ Dr Srivastava was in the process of taking out oranges from a bag. ‘Yes,’ he replied, offering them to everyone, ‘I was certainly by his bedside when he died. So were his widowed sister, his bearer and another servant.’ ‘Hm,’ Bonobihari Babu said gravely. ‘Were you informed after he suffered the attack?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you treat ailments of the heart as well?’ ‘There is no reason why an osteopath cannot look at a heart patient, if need be. Besides, his own doctor—Dr Graham—was out of town that day. So they called me.’ ‘Who did?’ ‘His bearer.’ ‘Bearer?’ Bonobihari Babu raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes. Pritam Singh. He’s been with the family for years. A very sensible and trustworthy man.’ Bonobihari Babu took the pipe out of his mouth and popped a piece of orange into it. ‘You told us Pyarelal gave you that ring after his first attack. When he had his second, you were called, but he died.’ ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘Was anyone else present in the room when you were given that ring?’

‘How could that be, Bonobihari Babu? One doesn’t give away precious and valuable things in