There were two routes to Pemiangchi. Unfortunately, we couldn’t take the shorter one as the main road had been damaged. Taking the longer route meant spending at least eight hours on the journey. Pemiangchi was a hundred and twenty-seven miles away. But it couldn’t be helped. Our hotel had given us packed lunches, and we had two flasks. One was full of hot coffee, the other had water. So there was no need for us to stop anywhere for lunch, which would have taken up a lot of time. Helmut was carrying only one camera today. Mr Sarkar, I noticed, had packed a pair of galoshes. ‘No point in taking risks,’ he told me. ‘This is cent per cent safe.’ ‘Cent per cent? What if a leech fell on your head from a tree?’ ‘No, that’s not likely. That happens in July and August. Leeches are normally to be found on the ground at this time of the year.’ Mr Sarkar didn’t know we were going in search of a criminal. He was therefore perfectly happy and relaxed. We reached Singtham at a quarter past six. We had passed through this town on our way to Gangtok. A left turn brought us to the river Tista again. We crossed it and found ourselves on a road none of us knew. This led straight to Pemiangchi. The jeep we were in wasn’t new, but was in reasonably good condition. Its driver looked like a bandit from a Western film. He was dressed purely in black—the trousers, shirt and the leather jerkin he wore were all black. Even the cap on his head was dark enough to qualify as black. He was too tall to be a Nepali, but I couldn’t figure out where he was from. Feluda asked him his name. ‘Thondup,’ he replied. ‘That’s a Tibetan name,’ said Mr Sarkar, looking knowledgeable. We drove in silence for about twenty kilometres. The next town on the way to Pemiangchi was Namchi. Just as we got close to it, a jeep behind us started blowing its horn loudly. Thondup made no attempt to let it pass. ‘Why is he in such a hurry?’ Feluda asked. ‘No idea, sir. But if we let it go ahead, it’ll only blow up clouds of dust.’ Thondup increased his speed. But the sound of the horn from the other jeep got more insistent. Mr Sarkar turned around irritably to see who it was. Then he exclaimed, ‘Why, look, it’s that same gentleman!’ ‘Who?’ Feluda and I turned and saw, to our amazement, that Mr Bose was in the other jeep, still honking and waving madly. ‘You’ll have to stop for a minute, Thondupji,’ Feluda said. ‘That’s a friend of ours.’ Thondup pulled up by the side of the road. Mr Bose came bounding out of the other jeep. ‘Are you deaf or what?’ he demanded. ‘I yelled myself hoarse in Singtham, but none of you heard me!’ ‘Sorry, very sorry, Mr Bose. If we knew you