Feluda smiled wryly at this. ‘God knows what that man gained by stealing that blue case,’ he remarked, ‘but he has certainly put us in an impossible situation. What a reckless devil!’

For the next few minutes, no one spoke. All that could be heard in the room was the sound of sighs. At last, Feluda uttered a few significant words. ‘There is a way,’ he said slowly. ‘Not, I admit, a simple way. But it’s the only one I can think of, and we’ve got to take it because we cannot go to Simla empty-handed.’

He reached for his blue notebook, and ran his eyes through the list of contents in Dhameeja’s case.

‘There is nothing in this list,’ he said, ‘that we can’t get here in Delhi. We’ve got to get every item. I remember what each one looked like and what condition it was in. So that’s one thing we needn’t worry about. I could make the toothpaste and the shaving cream look old and used. And it should be possible to get hold of a white handkerchief and have it embroidered. I remember the pattern. The newspapers will, of course, have a different date, but I don’t think Mr Dhameeja will notice it. The only expensive thing would be a roll of Kodak film …’

‘Hey!’ Lalmohan Babu interrupted. ‘Hey, look, I completely forgot to give this back to you. You passed it to me on the plane, remember?’ He returned the Kodak container to Feluda.

‘Good, that’s one problem solved … but what is that sticking out of your pocket?’

A piece of paper had slipped out with the little box of betel-nuts. We could all see what was written on it:

‘Do not go to Simla if you value your life.’

Chapter 7

It was now 9.30 p.m. Our train was rushing through the darkness in the direction of Kalka. We would have to change at Kalka to go on to Simla. There were only the three of us in our compartment. The fourth berth was empty. I couldn’t guess how the other two were feeling, but in my own mind there was a mixture of so many different emotions that it was impossible to tell which was the uppermost: excitement, pleasure, an eager anticipation or fear.

Lalmohan Babu broke the silence by saying, somewhat hesitantly, ‘Tell me, Mr Mitter, the dividing line between a brilliant detective and a criminal with real cunning is really quite thin, isn’t it?’

Feluda was so preoccupied that he did not reply. But I knew very well what had prompted the question. It was related to a certain incident that took place during the evening. I should describe it in some detail, for it revealed a rather unexpected streak in Feluda’s character.