It turned out that the station was in the process of being built. All it had at the moment was a platform and that structure, which was really a ticket window. Heaven knew when the building work would be completed. We selected a spot close to the ticket window and sat on our holdalls, preparing ourselves for a long wait. A kerosene lamp hung from a wooden post nearby, so when it got dark, we would at least be able to see one another. There appeared to be signs of habitation not all that far from the station. Feluda went to have a look, then returned and said that although he had seen houses, there were no shops and nowhere to eat. All we had with us was a little water in our flasks, and Lalmohan Babu had a tin of goja (deep-fried pastry dipped in syrup). Perhaps we would have to spend the whole night on the strength of those. The sun had set about ten minutes ago. It would soon be dark. Gurbachan Singh’s arrival did not seem likely, as in the last three hours, we had not seen a single car go past, either towards Jodhpur or Jaisalmer. There was nothing to do but wait on the platform until the next train came at three o’clock. Feluda was sitting on his suitcase and gazing steadily at the track. I watched him cracking the fingers of his right hand with his left. Obviously, he was anxious or agitated about something, which was why he wasn’t saying much. Lalmohan Babu opened his tin, bit into a goja and said, ‘Who knew this would happen? If I didn’t travel with you in the same compartment on the way from Agra, the entire nature of my holiday would not have changed like this, would it?’ ‘Why, do you mind?’ Feluda asked. ‘No, of course not!’ Lalmohan Babu laughed. ‘But it would certainly help if a few things were a bit clearer.’ ‘Which things in particular?’ ‘I don’t really know what’s going on, do I? I feel a bit like a shuttlecock—slapped from one side to the other, and back again. I mean, I don’t even know who you are. Are you the hero, or the villain? Ha ha!’ ‘Why do you want to know? What would you do, anyway, if you knew?’ Feluda asked with a smile. ‘When you write a novel, do you reveal everything at the outset? Why don’t you treat this entire Rajasthani experience as a novel? When it comes to an end, every mystery will be cleared up.’ ‘And I? Will I still be alive, and in one piece?’ ‘Well, you’ve already proved that you can run faster than a rabbit, if you have to. Isn’t that reassuring enough?’ I hadn’t realized it before, but someone had come and lit the kerosene lamp while we were talking. In its light, I suddenly saw two men, clad in local Rajasthani garb with turbans on their heads, making their