‘Shall we go down to the coffee shop?’ I suggested tentatively. ‘Hey, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest myself,’ Lalmohan Babu replied, looking pleased. We found an empty table in the coffee shop. ‘We could have some sandwiches with a cup of tea,’ Lalmohan Babu observed. ‘That’ll help us kill more time.’ ‘Two teas and two plates of chicken sandwiches, please,’ I told the waiter. I was hungry, but food didn’t seem all that important just now. Feluda had obviously seen the light. Whether it was only a glimmer, or whether he had solved the whole mystery, I didn’t know. But I began to feel elated. Lalmohan Babu found another way of killing time. He started to tell me the story of his next book. As always, he had already decided on the name. ‘I am going to call it The Manchurian Menace. It will mean reading up on China and the Chinese way of life, although my book will have nothing to do with modern China. It will be set during the time of the Mandarins.’ Soon, we finished our tea and sandwiches. Lalmohan Babu finished his story, but even so we had about ten minutes to spare. ‘What should we do now?’ he asked as we came out in the lobby. ‘Let’s go to that bookshop,’ I said. ‘After all, it’s become a sort of historic place, hasn’t it, since that’s where Nayan was seen last?’ ‘Yes, you’re right. Let’s go and have a look. Who knows, they might even have displayed copies of my books!’ ‘Er . . . I don’t think so, Lalmohan Babu.’ ‘Well, no harm in asking, is there?’ There was only one lady in the shop, sitting behind a counter. She was both young and attractive. ‘Excuse me,’ said Lalmohan Babu, walking straight up to her. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘Do you have crime novels for . . . for . . . youngsters?’ ‘In which language?’ ‘Bengali.’ ‘No, sir, I’m afraid we don’t keep books written in Bengali. But we have lots of books for children in English.’ ‘I know. Today—in fact, this afternoon—a friend of mine bought two books from this shop for a young boy.’ The lady gave him a puzzled glance. ‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘Eh? What do you mean?’ ‘I would have remembered, sir, if someone had bought two children’s books today. I haven’t sold a single one over the last four days.’ ‘What! But he said . . . maybe some other lady . . . ?’ ‘No, sir. I handle the sales alone.’

Lalmohan Babu and I looked at each other. I looked at my watch and said, ‘Half-an-hour’s up!’ Lalmohan Babu grabbed my hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, dragging me out with him. He paused for a second at the doorway, turned his head and threw a ‘Thank you, Miss!’ at the lady, then broke into a run to catch a lift. ‘How very odd!’ he exclaimed, pressing a button. I said nothing. for I