‘Yes. Your uncle decided to return the case to its owner. He hired me for this purpose. What I want to know is whether you removed anything from it.’

‘I did, naturally. Here it is.’

Prabeer Babu took out a ballpoint pen from his pocket. ‘I wanted to use the blades and the shaving cream,’ he added, ‘but of course I never got the chance.’

‘You do realize, don’t you, that the case must go back to the owner with every item intact?’

‘Yes, yes, naturally.’

He handed the pen over to Feluda. But he was obviously still greatly annoyed with his uncle. ‘At least,’ he muttered, ‘I should have been told the case was going back. After all, he did give …’

He couldn’t finish his sentence. Dinanath Babu’s car sounded its horn at this moment, thereby causing the film villain to beat a quick retreat.

‘Oh no, have you been waiting long?’ Dinanath Babu walked into the room, looking slightly rueful, his hands folded in a namaskar. We stood up to greet him. ‘No, no, please sit down,’ he said hurriedly. ‘You wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, would you?’

His servant appeared almost immediately and left with an order to bring us tea. Dinanath Babu sat down on the settee next to ours.

‘So … tell me …?’ he invited.

‘Your case got exchanged with the man who gave you the apple. His name is G. C. Dhameeja.’

Dinanath Babu grew round-eyed. ‘You found that out in just a day? What is this—magic?’

Feluda gave his famous lopsided smile and continued, ‘He lives in Simla and I’ve got his address. He was supposed to spend three days at the Grand, but he left a day early.’

‘Has he left already?’ Dinanath Babu asked, a little regretfully.

‘Yes. He left the hotel, but we don’t know whether he returned to Simla. One telegram to his house in Simla, and you shall get an answer to that.’

Dinanath Babu seemed to ponder for a few moments. Then he said, ‘All right. I will send a cable today. But if I discover he has indeed gone back to Simla, I still have to return his case to him, don’t I?’

‘Yes, of course. And yours has to come back to you. I am quite curious about that travelogue.’

‘Very good. Allow me to make a proposal, Mr Mitter. Why don’t you go to Simla with your cousin? I shall, of course, pay all your expenses. It’s snowing in Simla, I hear. Have you ever seen it snow, Khoka?’

At any other time, I would have been affronted at being called a child. But now it did not seem to matter at all. Go to Simla? Oh, how exciting! My heart started to race faster.