This was the last thing I’d have expected to hear from a strange voice. Rendered speechless, I could only swallow in silence.

The voice spoke again. It sounded harsh and the words it uttered chilled my blood. ‘Danger. Do you hear? You are both going to be in great danger if you go to Simla.’ This was followed by another click. The line was disconnected. But I didn’t need to hear any more. Those few words were enough. Like the Nepali Rana in Uncle Sidhu’s story, whose hand shook while shooting at a tiger, I replaced the receiver with a trembling hand.

Then I flopped down on a chair and sat very still. About half an hour later, I heard another ring. This nearly made me fall off the chair, but this time I realized it was the door bell, not the telephone. It was past eleven, so I opened the door myself and Feluda walked in. The huge packets in his hands meant that he had been to the laundry to collect our warm clothes.

Feluda gave me a sidelong glance and said, ‘Why are you licking your lips? Has there been a strange phone call?’

‘How did you guess?’ I asked, astonished.

‘From the way you’ve kept the receiver. Besides, the whole thing’s become so complicated that I’d have been surprised if we didn’t get a few weird calls. Who was it? What did he say?’

‘Don’t know who it was. He said going to Simla meant danger for both of us.’

Feluda pushed the regulator of the fan to its maximum speed and sat casually down on the divan.

‘What did you say to him?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Idiot! You should have said going to Simla cannot possibly be more dangerous than going out in the street in Calcutta. A regular battlefield is probably the only place that can claim to be more full of danger than the streets in this city.’

Feluda’s nonchalance calmed my nerves. I decided to change the subject.

‘Where did you go?’ I asked. ‘Apart from the laundry, I mean.’

‘To the office of S. M. Kedia.’

‘Did you learn anything new?’

‘Brijmohan seemed a friendly enough fellow. His family has lived in Calcutta for three generations. And yes, he knows Mr Pakrashi. I got the impression that Pakrashi still owes him some money. Brijmohan, too, had eaten the apple Dhameeja had offered him. But no, he doesn’t have a blue Air-India attaché case; and he had spent most of his time on the train either sleeping or just lying with his eyes closed.’

I told Feluda about Amar Kumar.

‘If he knows he has been dropped but is pretending he isn’t,’ remarked Feluda, ‘then the man is truly a fine actor.’