We decided to go to the famous temple of Jagannath in the evening before our meeting with Mr Bhattacharya. I was more interested in looking at the chariot. I had learnt from Feluda that every year, the old wooden chariot of Jagannath was broken methodically and a new one built in its place. Toys were made with the broken pieces of wood from the old one and sold in the market. Feluda was not speaking much. Perhaps he was thinking of all the new people we had met and what they had said to us. There was one little thing that I felt I had to say to him. ‘Have you noticed, Feluda,’ I said, ‘how everything seems to be related to Nepal? The man who got murdered was from Nepal, Bilas Majumdar went to Kathmandu, and so did D.G. Sen . . .’ ‘So? You think that has a special significance?’ ‘Well, yes, I mean . . .’ ‘There is no reason to assume anything of the kind. It’s most probably no more than a coincidence.’ ‘OK, if you say so.’ Having seen the famous chariot, we were roaming around in the huge street market in front of the temple, looking at tiny statues and wheels of Konark being carved out of stone, when suddenly we bumped into Inspector Mahapatra. It took me a few seconds to recognize him, for he had had a haircut. One look at his new, freshly cropped hair reminded me of an uncle who always used to fall asleep the minute he sat in a barber’s chair. When he woke up, the barber would show him his handiwork, which would invariably result in a violent argument. Inspector Mahapatra seemed to be a man who had a lot in common with my uncle. ‘Hello, Inspector!’ Feluda greeted him. ‘Any progress? Did you manage to contact Mr Sarkar of Meher Ali Road?’ ‘We received some information this afternoon,’ the Inspector replied. ‘Fourteen Meher Ali Road is a block of apartments. There are eight apartments. Mr Sarkar lives in number three. His flat’s been locked for a week. Apparently, he goes out of town quite frequently.’ ‘Do you know where he’s gone this time?’ ‘Puri.’ ‘Really? Who told you that?’ ‘The occupant in flat number 4. He’s supposed to be here on holiday.’ ‘Did you get a description?’ ‘Yes, but it doesn’t really mean anything. Medium height, clean-shaven, age between thirty-five and forty.’ ‘What does he do?’ ‘He calls himself a travelling salesman. No one seems to know what he sells. He took that flat a year ago.’

‘And Rupchand Singh?’ ‘He arrived in Puri yesterday, and checked in at a hotel near the bus stand. He didn’t even pay his bill. Last night, he had tried making a call from his hotel, but the phone was out of order. So he went to a chemist across the road and used their phone. The chemist saw him, but didn’t hear what he said on the phone as