There was no sign of either Gawangi or TNT on the train. Our journey to Madras proved to be totally eventless. ‘I fail to see,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked on our way to the hotel, ‘why Madras is clubbed together with cities like Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta. Why, any small town in Bengal is more lively than this!’ In a way, he was right. The roads were so much more quiet than the streets of Calcutta. But they were wide, smooth and devoid of potholes. There weren’t many skyscrapers, either; nor were there any traffic jams. I began to like the city of Madras. Heaven knew why Lalmohan Babu was still looking morose. However, he cheered up as we entered the brightly-lit lobby of our hotel. He looked around a few times, then nodded approvingly and said, ‘Beautiful. Hey, this is quite something, isn’t it?’ We had already decided that we’d spend the first three days just seeing the sights. Nayan and Mr Tarafdar would, of course, accompany us. ‘We’ve seen the Elephanta caves, Ellora and the temples of Orissa,’ said Feluda. ‘Now we ought to visit Mahabalipuram. That’ll show us a different aspect of architecture in India. Have a look at the guide book, Topshe. You’ll enjoy things much better if you’re already aware of certain points of interest.’ Since it was already dark, we did not venture out in the evening. In fact, each one of us felt like an early night, so we had dinner by 9 p.m. and went to bed soon after that. The next morning, Feluda said as soon as we were ready, ‘Let’s go and find out what Sunil and Nayan are doing.’ Unfortunately, we had been unable to get rooms on the same floor. Ours was on the fourth, while Nayan’s was on the third. We climbed down a flight of stairs and pressed the bell outside room 382. Mr Tarafdar opened the door. We found Shankar Hublikar in the room, and another gentleman. But there was no sign of Nayan. ‘Good morning, Mr Mitter,’ said Tarafdar with a big smile, ‘meet Mr Reddy. He is the owner of the Rohini Theatre, where I am going to have my first show in Madras. He says there’s a tremendous interest among the local public. There have been a lot of enquiries and he thinks the tickets will sell like . . .’ ‘Where’s Nayan?’ Feluda interrupted a little rudely. ‘Being interviewed. A reporter from the Hindu arrived a little while ago to take his interview. This will mean more publicity for my show.’ ‘Yes, but where is this interview taking place?’ ‘The manager himself made arrangements. There’s a conference room on the ground floor . . .’ Feluda darted out of the room even before Tarafdar had finished speaking, I followed Feluda quickly, Tarafdar’s last words barely reaching my ears, ‘ . . . told him no one should go in . . .’

We rushed down the stairs without waiting for the lift. Feluda kept muttering under his breath. I caught the words ‘fool’ and ‘imbecile’, which I realized were meant for our magician. A passing waiter showed us where the conference room was. Feluda pushed open the door and marched in. There was a long table, with rows of chairs around it. Nayan was sitting in one of them. A bearded man sat next to him, jotting something down in a notebook. Feluda took this in and, a second later, strode forward to grab the reporter and pull at his beard. It came off quite easily. Henry Hodgson stood staring at us. ‘Good morning,’ he grinned, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. ‘What was he asking you?’ Feluda asked Nayan. ‘About horses.’ ‘All right, Mr Mitter, have me thrown out,’ said Hodgson, still grinning. ‘I have already got the numbers of all the winning horses in every race for the next three days. I shouldn’t have a care in the world for many years to come. Good day, sir!’ Mr Hodgson slipped out. Feluda flopped down on a chair, clutching his head between his hands. Then he raised his face and looked straight at Nayan. ‘Look, Nayan,’ he said somewhat impatiently, ‘if anyone else tries talking to you, from now on, just tell them you’re not going to utter a word unless I am present. Is that understood?’ Nayan nodded sagely. ‘There is one consolation, Feluda,’ I ventured to say. ‘At least Hodgson’s not going to bother us again. He’ll now go back to Calcutta and put his last few pennies on horses.’ ‘Yes, that’s true, but I am concerned at Tarafdar’s totally irresponsible behaviour. A magician really ought to know better.’ We took Nayan back to Tarafdar’s room. ‘Did you want publicity, Sunil?’ Feluda said sarcastically. ‘You’ll get it in full measure, but not in the way you had imagined. Do you know who was taking Nayan’s interview?’ ‘Who?’ ‘Mr Henry Hodgson.’ ‘What! That bearded—? ‘Yes, it was that bearded fellow. He’s got what he wanted. Didn’t I tell you Nayan wasn’t out of danger? If Hodgson could follow us to Madras, why shouldn’t the others? Now, look, if you want Nayan to remain safe, you’ve got to do as I tell you. Or else don’t expect any help from me.’ ‘Y-yes, sir!’ Mr Tarafdar muttered, scratching his neck and looking somewhat shamefaced. ‘Leave the publicity to Mr Reddy,’ Feluda continued. ‘Neither you nor your friend Shankar should go anywhere near reporters from the press. Many genuine reporters will want interviews and information. You must learn to stay away from them. Your main priority should be Nayan’s safety because—remember—if your show is successful, it will be because of his power and what he does on stage, not because of any publicity you might arrange for yourself. Do I make myself clear?’ ‘Yes, sir. I understand.’ Over breakfast, we told Lalmohan Babu about Hodgson’s visit. ‘Good, good!’ he exclaimed, attacking an omelette. ‘I was afraid things would go quiet in Madras. I’m