‘My God! I’d never have thought you’d pick that up! But you’re right. In a moving train I am tempted to break my own rules.’

‘OK,’ said Feluda, ‘I now need to know exactly where who was sitting.’

‘I was on a lower berth. Mr Pakrashi was on the berth above mine. On the other side, the man who gave me the apple sat on the upper berth and below him was the businessman who knew Mr Pakrashi.’

Feluda was silent for a few moments. Then he rubbed his hands together and said, ‘If you don’t mind, I am going to ask for some tea. Do have a cup if you want. Topshe, would you please go in?’

I ran in to tell our cook, Srinath, to bring the tea. When I returned, Feluda had opened the attaché case.

‘Wasn’t it locked?’ he asked.

‘No. Nor was mine. So whoever took it could easily have seen what was in it. This one is full of routine, ordinary stuff.’

True. It contained little besides two English dailies, a cake of soap, a comb, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a shaving kit, a handkerchief and a paperback.

‘Did your case contain anything valuable?’ Feluda wanted to know.

‘No, nothing. In fact, what my case had was probably of less value than what you see here. The only interesting thing in it was a manuscript. It was a travelogue, about Tibet. I had taken it with me to read on the train. It made very good reading.’

‘A travelogue about Tibet?’ Feluda was now clearly curious.

‘Yes. It was written in 1917 by a Shambhucharan Bose. As far as I can make out, my uncle must have brought it, since it was dedicated to him. His name was Satinath Lahiri. He had lived in Kathmandu for many years, working as a private tutor in the household of the Ranas. He returned home about forty-five years ago, a sick old man. In fact, he died shortly after his return. Among his belongings was a Nepali box. It lay in a corner of our box room. We had all forgotten its existence until recently, when I called the Pest Control. The room had to be emptied for the men to work in. It was then that I found the box and, in it, the manuscript.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘The day before I left for Delhi.’

Feluda grew a little thoughtful. ‘Shambhucharan?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Shambhucharan … Shambhucharan …’