The chowkidar’s words appeared to disappoint Helmut the most. He sat down on the grass outside, placing his camera beside him. Mr Bose said, ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do immediately, can we? Let’s have lunch. I’m starving.’ We went into the bungalow carrying our luggage. It was obvious that the bungalow had been built several decades ago. The wooden floor and ceiling, the wide verandas with wooden railings and old- fashioned furniture all bore evidence of an era gone by. The view from the veranda was breathtaking. If the sky wasn’t cloudy, we would have been able to see Kanchenjunga, which was twenty-two miles away. There was no noise anywhere except the chirping of birds. We crossed the veranda and went into the dining hall. Mr Bose found an easy chair and took it. He said to Feluda, ‘I wasn’t too sure about Vaidya before, although you did tell me you had your suspicions. But now I’m convinced he’s our man. SS should never have shown him such a valuable object as that statue.’ Helmut had risen to his feet, but hadn’t joined us. I could see him pacing in the veranda outside. Mr Sarkar went inside, possibly to look for a bathroom. Feluda began to inspect the other rooms in the bungalow. I sat quietly in the dining hall, feeling most depressed. Was our journey really going to turn out to be a complete waste of time? There were two doors on one side, leading to two bedrooms. Feluda came out of one of these with a walking-stick in his hand. ‘Dr Vaidya most certainly visited this place,’ Feluda said, ‘and he left this stick to prove it. How very strange!’ Feluda’s voice sounded different. I looked up quickly, but said nothing. Mr Sarkar returned, wiping his face with a handkerchief. ‘What a weird place!’ he exclaimed, taking the chair next to mine, yawning noisily. Feluda did not sit down. He stood before the fireplace, tapping the stick softly on the ground. His mouth was set in a grim line. ‘Mr Sarkar!’ called Mr Bose. ‘Where are those packed lunches your hotel gave you? Let’s eat.’ ‘No!’ said Feluda, his voice sounding cold and remote. ‘This is not the time to eat.’ Mr Sarkar had started to rise. He flopped back in his chair at Feluda’s words. Mr Bose and I both looked at him in surprise. But Feluda’s face remained without expression. Then he sat down, lit a Charminar and inhaled deeply. ‘Mr Bose,’ he said conversationally, ‘you know someone in Ghatshila, you said. Isn’t that where you were before you caught a flight from Calcutta?’ ‘Yes. A nephew of mine got married.’ ‘You are a Hindu, aren’t you, Mr Bose?’ ‘Why? What do you mean?’ ‘You heard me. What are you? A Hindu, or a Muslim, or a Christian, or what?’

‘How does that—?’ ‘Just tell me.’ ‘I’m a Hindu, of course.’ ‘Hm.’ Feluda blew out two smoke rings. One of them wafted towards Mr Bose, getting larger and larger, until it disappeared in front of his face. ‘But,’ Feluda frowned, ‘you and I travelled together in the same plane. You had just got back from Ghatshila, hadn’t you?’ ‘Yes, but why is that causing you such concern? I can’t understand this at all, Mr Mitter. What has my nephew’s wedding in Ghatshila got to do with anything?’ ‘It has plenty to do with things, Mr Bose. Traditionally, no Hindu would get married in the month of Chaitra. We left Calcutta on fourteenth April, which was the first of Baisakh. Your nephew’s wedding took place before that, so it must have been in the preceding month, which was Chaitra. How did you allow this to happen?’ Mr Bose was in the middle of lighting a cigarette. He stopped, his hands shaking a little. ‘What are you implying, Mr Mitter? Just what are you trying to say?’ Feluda looked steadily at Mr Bose, without giving him an immediate answer. Then he said, slowly and deliberately, ‘I am implying a lot of things, Mr Bose. To start with, you are a liar. You never went to Ghatshila. Secondly, you betrayed someone’s trust—’ ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Mr Bose shouted. ‘We have all heard how depressed Mr Shelvankar had been before he died. He had even mentioned it to Helmut, though he did not specify the reason. It is easy enough to get totally broken in spirit if one is betrayed by a person one has trusted implicitly. I believe you were that person. You were his partner, weren’t you? Mr Shelvankar was a simple, straightforward man. You took full advantage of this and cheated him endlessly. But one day, he came to know of what you had done. When you realized this, you decided to get him out of the way forever. That wasn’t possible in Bombay, so you had to wait until he came to Sikkim. You were not supposed to be here. But you came—possibly the next day—disguised as Dr Vaidya. Yes, you were Dr Vaidya! You met Shelvankar and impressed him a great deal by telling him a few things about his life that you knew already. Then you told him about the possibility of finding Virendra in a gumpha, and left with him that morning in the same jeep. On the way, you hit his head with this heavy stick. This made him unconscious, but he did not die. You went ahead with your plan, and had the jeep pushed into the gorge. The driver had, no doubt, been bribed; that must have been easy enough to do. Then you threw that stone from the hill, using the same heavy stick to dislodge it from the ground. In spite of all this, Mr Shelvankar remained alive for a few hours, long enough to mention your name. Perhaps he had recognized you at the last minute.’ ‘Nonsense! What utter rubbish are you talking, Mr Mitter?’ shouted Mr Bose. ‘Where is the