We were booked to travel to Hong Kong by Air-India flight number 316. We had flown before in Boeing 707s and 737s. This was the first time we would travel in a jumbo jet. As we got into the aircraft, it seemed impossible to see how such a huge plane would actually lift itself off the ground. ‘Good God! Such a lot of people!’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed, looking around. ‘All these passengers in the economy class alone would fill the Netaji Indoor Stadium!’ This struck me as an exaggeration, but certainly there were enough people to fill the balcony of a medium-sized cinema hall. Feluda had already cabled Purnendu Pal. We were scheduled to reach Hong Kong the next morning at 7.45 a.m. It was normal practice with Feluda to get some reading done about any new place he was going to visit. He had gone to a bookshop yesterday and bought a book on Hong Kong. I had leafed through it briefly, but what I saw in the glossy photos was enough to convince me that there could be few cities as lively and colourful as Hong Kong. Lalmohan Babu was bursting with excitement, but appeared to know very little about what to expect. ‘Will we get to see the Wall of China?’ he asked innocently. ‘The Wall of China,’ Feluda had to explain, ‘is in the People’s Republic of China, near Peking. Hong Kong is at least a thousand miles from Peking.’ Our plane took off on time. I noticed how smoothly it flew, especially since the weather outside was good. It reached Bangkok at midnight; but passengers to Hong Kong weren’t allowed to get off the plane. So I promptly went back to sleep. When I woke in the morning, I saw that we were flying over the sea. Gradually, little islands in the water became visible, standing out like the backs of giant turtles. As the plane began losing height, these grew larger and larger, and I realized many of them were really the tops of mountains submerged in water. Soon, we were flying over real mountains. There were white dots among the green foliage on the mountains which, later, turned out to be massive highrise buildings, all built close to the hills. They glittered in the sun. I had heard that landing an aeroplane at the Hong Kong airport called for special skill. The runway seemed to be stretched out on the water. Even a slight mistake could result in either a loud splash in the sea or a big crash in the mountains. Luckily, neither of these things happened. The plane landed where it was supposed to, and then stopped before a terminal building. Two chutes on wheels came out and fitted perfectly with the two main exits of the plane. We could, therefore, walk through these and go straight into the terminal

without having to go down a flight of stairs. Lalmohan Babu was completely round-eyed. ‘This isn’t exclusive to Hong Kong, Lalmohan Babu,’ Feluda told him. ‘All major airports in the world have this system.’ Since we did not have much luggage, it did not take us long to clear customs. We were out in less than half an hour. Just outside customs was a large group of people. One of them was holding a large board with ‘P. Mitter’ written on it. This must be Purnendu Pal. He was about the same age as Nobo Kumar—a man in his early forties, smart and well-dressed. Nobo Kumar had been right in saying his friend was doing well. ‘Welcome to Hong Kong!’ he said, leading us to his car. It was a dark blue German Opel. Feluda got in beside him, Lalmohan Babu and I climbed in at the back. ‘The airport,’ Mr Pal said, starting his car, ‘is in Kowloon. I live and work in Hong Kong. So we have to cross the bay to get there.’ ‘We’re really sorry to trouble you like this,’ Feluda began. Mr Pal raised a hand to stop him. ‘It’s no trouble at all, I assure you. You can’t imagine how happy it makes me feel to meet fellow Bengalis. There are quite a number of Indians in Hong Kong, but not too many people from Bengal.’ ‘Our hotel booking—?’ ‘Yes, I’ve arranged that. But let us first go to my flat. You are a detective, I believe?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you here on business?’ ‘Yes. It shouldn’t take more than a day. We intend taking the Air-India flight back to Calcutta tomorrow evening.’ ‘What exactly are you looking for, may I ask?’ ‘An Armenian. You see, a most valuable painting was stolen from Nobo Kumar’s house and brought here. We suspect a man called Hiralal Somani has brought it here and will pass it on to a wealthy Armenian. It will sell for—I think—more than a million rupees.’ ‘What!’ ‘We have to recover that painting.’ ‘My goodness, this sounds like something out of a film! But where does this Armenian live?’ ‘I have his office address.’ ‘I see. Is Somani from Calcutta?’ ‘Yes. He arrived in Hong Kong last Saturday. Chances are, he’s already sold that painting to the Armenian.’ ‘But that’s terrible! What are you going to do?’ ‘All we can do is meet the buyer and explain the situation to him. He must be made to realize that it’s not safe for him to have a stolen object in his possession.’ ‘Hm,’ said Mr Pal, looking concerned. Lalmohan Babu, too, was looking thoughtful. ‘What’s the matter?’ I whispered. ‘Can . . . can one say Hong Kong is like England?’ ‘No, how can you do that? England is in the West. This is the Far East.’ Feluda’s sharp ears did not miss our conversation. ‘Don’t worry, Lalmohan Babu,’ he said without turning his head. ‘Tell your friends back home that Hong Kong is also known as the London of the

East. I’m sure they’ll be sufficiently impressed.’ ‘London of the East? Oh good. London