Our car passed through the heavy traffic in Shibpur and turned onto the national highway. It felt like going into a new world. When I say ‘our’ car, I really mean Jatayu’s car. Lalmohan Ganguli—alias Jatayu—the very successful writer of blood-curdling thrillers, owned this green Ambassador. But he was perfectly happy to let us use it whenever we wanted. ‘My car, sir,’ he had once said to Feluda, ‘is equal to yours. What I mean is, it’s your right—that is, it is a privilege for me to offer you the use of my car, considering all you’ve done for me.’ ‘What have I done for you, Lalmohan Babu?’ ‘Why, you’ve—you’ve opened such a lot of new doors for me! And it’s brought me renewed vigour and a totally different outlook. Just think of the many places I’ve now travelled to—Delhi, Bombay, Jaisalmer, Benaras, Simla, Nepal. Could I have done it without your help? No, sir! I had only heard of the saying “Travel broadens the mind”. Now I know what it means.’ This time, however, we were not going to travel very far. Mecheda was only a few miles from Calcutta. But according to Lalmohan Babu, living in Calcutta was no different from living in the black hole. So if one could get away even for a single day, it gave one a new lease of life. Why, one might wonder, were we going to Mecheda, of all places? The reason was simple. We were going there to meet the numerologist, Bhabesh Chandra Bhattacharya. Lalmohan Babu had read about him—and his powers—nearly three months ago. Now he was determined to meet him in person. Mr Bhattacharya, apparently, could use his knowledge of numbers to make amazing and accurate predictions. Hundreds of people were queueing up outside his house in Mecheda to seek his advice. Lalmohan Babu wanted to join the queue, for his last book had not sold quite as well as he had hoped. ‘There must have been something wrong with the title of the novel,’ he mused. ‘I don’t think so, Lalmohan Babu,’ Feluda told him. ‘All that happened was that you got carried away. Your hero gets hit by seven bullets, but even after that he’s alive and well. Now, that is a bit hard to swallow, isn’t it? I mean, even for the readers of your adventure series?’ ‘What are you saying, Felu Babu?’ Jatayu sounded indignant. ‘My hero Prakhar Rudra isn’t an ordinary man, and my readers know it. He’s a super-super-super man of extraordinary—’ ‘All right, all right, we believe you!’ This time, Feluda had declared himself perfectly happy with the plot of his latest novel. But Lalmohan Babu was not going to take any risks. ‘I must consult this numerologist,’ he said. Hence our visit to Mecheda. We had left Calcutta at 7.30 this morning and hoped to reach Mecheda by half-past nine. By 1.30 p.m., we planned to be back home.

There wasn’t much traffic on the highway, and we drove at