I woke the next morning to find the sky overcast. It was drizzling softly and, judging by the puddles on the road, it had rained fairly heavily during the night. Feluda was already up, sitting on the balcony, his feet resting on the railing. His famous blue notebook lay open on his lap. He was turning its pages with great concentration, quite oblivious of the fact that his feet were getting wet. A number of people were making their way to the ghat, undaunted by the rain. But I knew that the noise from the street below would do nothing to disturb Feluda. Lalmohan Babu rose a little later. ‘I had such a strange dream, Tapesh,’ he said. ‘There I was, with knives and daggers sticking out from virtually every inch of my body. And I was standing before my publisher, asking for the proofs of my novel. Do you know what he said to me? He said, “Lalmohan Babu, why don’t you change your pseudonym? Drop Jatayu. Porcupine would be more apt—and your books will sell much better.” Ho!’ Feluda came back into the room a few minutes later, as Lalmohan Babu and I sat sipping our first cup of tea. ‘Tell me, Mr Jatayu,’ he said, ‘do any of your books mention sending messages through a kite?’ ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Lalmohan Babu shook his head regretfully. ‘I rather wish I had thought of that. As far as I can see, Ruku got the idea from a book by another writer.’ ‘Perhaps I should not have laughed at your adventure series. Considering the impact it’s had on Ruku’s mind, it deserves to be taken a bit more seriously. Oh, by the way, can you tell me a number between one and ten?’ ‘Seven.’ ‘Did you know that seventy per cent of people would say “seven” if asked the same question?’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes. And they’d say “three” if you asked them to choose a number between one and five. Try asking them to name a flower, and they’d say “rose”.’ We went down to breakfast at eight. About half-an-hour later, one of the waiters came looking for Feluda. ‘There is a phone call for you,’ he said, ‘in the manager’s room.’ Phone call for Feluda? Who would be ringing him so early in the morning? But there was nothing for me to do, except wait patiently until he came back and explained. He reappeared only a few minutes later. ‘That was Tiwari,’ he said. ‘Neither Prayag nor Haridwar could confirm that anyone by the name of Machchli Baba had been seen or heard of in recent times.’ ‘How interesting! Does that mean the man here is a fraud?’ ‘He might be, but that does not bother me. I mean, there are scores of people who claim to have magical powers. What we have to establish is that there is no sinister motive behind Machchli Baba’s

little deception.’ ‘Didn’t Mr Tiwari say anything else?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ Feluda replied. ‘Three