‘But that was natural!’ he said. ‘When a rocket leaves for outer space, even the faces of astronauts get distorted. The thing is, you see, as you’re leaving the ground, the laws of gravity pull you back. In that conflict, the facial muscles contract, and hence the distortion of the whole face.’

I wanted to ask if that was indeed the case, why should Lalmohan Babu be the only person to be singled out by the laws of gravity, why didn’t everyone else get similarly affected; but seeing that he had recovered his composure and was, in fact, looking quite cheerful, I said nothing more.

Breakfast arrived soon, with the cutlery wrapped in a cellophane sheet. Lalmohan Babu attacked his omelette with the coffee spoon, used the knife like a spoon to scoop out the marmalade from its little pot, putting it straight into his mouth without bothering to spread it on a piece of bread; then he tried to peel the orange with his fork, but gave up soon and used his fingers instead.

Finally, he leant forward and said to Feluda, ‘I saw you chewing betel-nut a while ago. Do you have any left?’

Feluda took out the Kodak container from the blue attaché case and passed it to Lalmohan Babu. I couldn’t help glancing again at Mr Dhameeja’s case. Did it know that we were going to travel twelve hundred miles to a snow-laden place situated at a height of seven thousand feet, simply to return it to its owner and pick up an identical one? The thought suddenly made me shiver.

Feluda had said virtually nothing after we took off. He had taken out his famous blue notebook (volume seven) and was scribbling in it, occasionally looking up to stare out of the window at the fluffy white clouds, biting the end of his pen. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. I, for my part, had given up trying to think at all. It was all too complex.

We soon landed in Delhi and came out of the airport. There was a noticeable nip in the air. ‘This probably means there has been a fresh snowfall in Simla,’ Feluda observed. He was still clutching the blue case. Not for a second had he allowed himself to be separated from it.

‘I think I can get a room at the Agra Hotel,’ said Lalmohan Babu. ‘I will join you at the Janpath by noon. Then we can have lunch together and have a little roam around. The train to Simla doesn’t leave until eight this evening, does it?’

The Janpath was a fairly large hotel. We were given room 532 on the fifth floor. Feluda put our luggage on the luggage-rack and threw himself on the bed. I decided to take this opportunity to ask him something that I had been feeling curious about.