You’re right. But then, you are more intelligent than most. Not many would have picked that up.’

‘I have a question to ask,’ Feluda continued. ‘Everyone, with the sole exception of yourself, slept well that night, didn’t they?’

‘Hmm … yes, you might say that.’

‘And yet, Dinanath Lahiri says he cannot sleep in a moving train. Did you drug him?’

‘Right.’

‘By crushing a pill and pouring it into a glass of water?’

‘Yes. I always carry my sleeping pills with me. Everyone had been given a glass of water when dinner was served, and two of the passengers went to wash their hands. Only Dhameeja didn’t.’

‘Does that mean you couldn’t tamper with Mr Dhameeja’s drinking water?’

‘No, and as a result of that I couldn’t do a thing during the night. At six in the morning, Dhameeja got up to have a shave and then went to the bathroom. I did what I had to do before he came back. Lahiri and the other one were still fast asleep.’

‘I see. You took one hell of a risk, didn’t you, with Dhameeja actually in the compartment, when you poured the pill into Dinanath’s water?’

‘I was lucky. He didn’t even glance at me.’

‘Yes, lucky you certainly were. But, later, you did something that gave you away. It was a clever move, no doubt, but what made you offer me money even after you had got hold of Shambhucharan’s manuscript?’

Mr Pakrashi burst out laughing, but said nothing.

‘That phone call in Calcutta and that piece of paper in Delhi … you were behind both, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. I did not want you to go to Simla—at least, not at first. I knew a man like you would tear apart my perfect crime. So I rang your house and even slipped a written threat into your friend’s pocket when I found him sitting next to me in the plane. But then … slowly, I began to change my mind. By the time I reached Simla, I was convinced I should return the stolen property to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you went back without the manuscript, you yourself might have been under suspicion. I did not want that to happen. I have come to appreciate you and your methods in these few days, you see.’

‘Thank you, Mr Pakrashi. One more question.’

‘Yes?’

‘You made a duplicate copy of the whole manuscript before returning it to me, didn’t you?’

All the colour from Mr Pakrashi’s face receded instantly. Feluda had played his trump card.

‘When we went to your house, you were typing something. It was the stuff in this notebook, wasn’t it? You were typing every word in it.’

‘But … you …’

‘There was a funny smell in your room, the same as the smell in Shambhucharan’s old Nepali box. And now I can see that this notebook has it, too.’