Although the mist had lifted, the sky was still overcast, and it was raining. I didn’t mind the rain. It was only a faint drizzle, the tiny raindrops breaking up into a thin, powdery haze. One didn’t need an umbrella in rain like this; it was very refreshing. We found a branch of Bata near our hotel. Luckily, they did have the kind of boots we were looking for. When we came out clutching our parcels, Feluda said, ‘Since we don’t yet know our way about this town, we’d better take a taxi.’ ‘Where to?’ ‘The Tibetan Institute. I’ve heard they have a most impressive collection of tankhas, ancient manuscripts and pieces of Tantrik art.’ ‘Are you beginning to get suspicious?’ I asked, though I wasn’t at all sure that Feluda would give me a straight answer. ‘Why? What should I be getting suspicious about?’ ‘That Mr Shelvankar’s death wasn’t really caused by an accident?’ ‘I haven’t found a reason yet to jump to that conclusion.’ ‘But that statue is missing, isn’t it?’ ‘So what? It slipped out of his pocket, and was stolen by someone. That’s all there is to it. Killing is not so simple. Besides, I cannot believe that anyone would commit murder simply for a statue that had been bought for a thousand rupees.’ I said nothing more, but I couldn’t help thinking that if a mystery did grow out of all this, it would be rather fun. A row of jeeps stood by the roadside. Feluda approached one of the Nepali drivers and said, ‘The Tibetan Institute. Do you know the way?’ ‘Yes sir, I do.’ We got into the jeep, both choosing to sit in the front with the driver. He took out a woollen scarf from his pocket, wrapped it round his neck and turned the jeep around. Then we set off on the same road which had brought us into town. Only this time, we were going in the opposite direction. Feluda began talking to the driver. ‘Have you heard about the accident that happened recently?’ ‘Yes, everyone in Gangtok has.’ ‘The driver of that jeep survived, didn’t he?’ ‘Yes, he’s very lucky. Last year there had been a similar accident: The driver got killed, not the passenger.’ ‘Do you happen to know this driver?’ ‘Of course. Everyone knows everyone in Gangtok.’

‘What is he doing now?’ ‘Driving another taxi. SKM 463. It’s a new taxi.’ ‘Have you seen the accident spot?’ ‘Yes, it’s on the North Sikkim Highway. Three kilometres from here.’ ‘Could you take us there tomorrow.’ ‘Yes, sure. Why not?’ ‘Well then, come to the Snow View Hotel at 8 a.m. We’ll be waiting for you.’ ‘Very well, sir.’ A road rose straight through a forest to stop before the Tibetan Institute. The driver told us that orchids grew in this forest, but we didn’t have the time to stop and look for them. Our jeep stopped outside the front door of the Institute. It was a large two-storey