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 were back, we wouldn’t have left without you,’ Feluda apologized.

‘I could hardly stay on in Bombay after receiving your telegram. I’ve been following your jeep for miles.’ Thondup was absolutely right about the dust. Mr Bose was covered with it from head to foot, like an ash-smeared sadhubaba, thanks—no doubt—to the wheels of our own jeep. ‘In your telegram you said you were suspicious about something. So where are you off to now? Why did you leave Gangtok?’ Instead of giving him a straight answer, Feluda asked, ‘Do you have a lot of luggage?’ ‘No, just a suitcase.’ ‘In that case, why don’t we move our own luggage into your jeep, and you can climb in with us? I’ll fill you in.’ It took only a couple of minutes to transfer all the luggage. Mr Bose climbed in at the back with Mr Sarkar and Helmut, and we set off again. Feluda told Mr Bose briefly what had happened over the last two days. He even revealed that Helmut was Mr Shelvankar’s son. Mr Bose frowned when Feluda finished. ‘But who is this Dr Vaidya? He’s bound to be a fraud. You should not have allowed him to get away, Mr Mitter. You could have—’ Feluda interrupted him. ‘My suspicions fell on him when I learnt about Helmut’s true identity. You are partly to blame, Mr Bose. You should have told us your partner’s first wife was a German.’ ‘How was I to know that would matter? Besides, all I knew was that she was a foreigner. I had no idea about her nationality. Shelvankar married her about twenty-five years ago. Anyway, I just hope that Vaidya hasn’t left Pemiangchi. Or our entire journey will come to nothing!’ We reached Namchi a little after ten. Here we stopped for a few minutes, to pour cold water into the engine, and hot coffee into ourselves. I could see clouds gathering in the sky, but wasn’t unduly worried since I’d heard Namchi was considered by many to be the driest and cleanest place in Sikkim. Helmut was taking photographs, more out of habit than any real interest. He had hardly spoken since we left. Now that Mr Sarkar had learnt the real reason for going to Pemiangchi, he seemed faintly uneasy; but the prospect of having an adventure was obviously just as appealing. ‘With your cousin on one side, and the German Virendra on the other, I see no reason to worry,’ he declared to me. We left Namchi after ten minutes. The road went down from here, towards another river called Rangeet. This river was very different from the Tista. Its water was clear, with a greenish tinge, and it flowed with considerable force. Pools of foam formed where it struck against stones and rocks. I had never seen such a beautiful river in the hills. We had to cross another bridge and climb up the hill again to get to Pemiangchi, which was at a height of 9,000 feet.