“India has a most unsettling effect on Europeans in general—which collective noun, by the way, embraces residents of England, America, and half of Russia as well. This is a land that gives one little of what is expected or desired, but an abundance of what proves later to have been needed. The process proves hugely disorientating, with the result that even the most stable of individuals rather go to pieces. One tends,” he concluded in a sorrowful voice, “to shout at people.”

“Holmes, I do not shout.”

“That is true. Nonetheless.”

I stared at him, wondering what on earth he meant. His words seemed to indicate a personal experience with that state of mind, but—Holmes, red-faced and furious? I could not begin to envision it. And I certainly was not in the habit of shouting at anyone, particularly strangers. I might let fly with a barbed and carefully chosen remark if need be, but shout?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told him, my voice low and reasonable, and subsided back onto the sofa.

While Holmes prowled the car, investigating its fittings, I lay motionless, wincing at the crashing, yells, and bustle outside, hoping that it would not intrude on us. After several minutes the voice of Mr Cook came from the entrance door, and before I could growl at him that we wanted no more news of disasters, Holmes called for him to enter. He did so, accompanied by the uniformed chuprassis carrying our cabin bags, the small carpet given us by the Aden carpet-seller, and a pair of closed-topped wicker baskets. Behind them came a sun-blackened man with a brief and grubby lunghi around his loins and a scrap of turban on his head. He staggered under the weight of an enormous block of ice, which he dropped with a crash into the offending tin tray, then vanished instantly. The two chuprassis paused at the door, and Mr Cook bowed nearly in half.

“This is for your comfort, in this most unseasonable heat, which truly I do not believe will continue to grip you as you journey to the north. If, however, it does, and if you wish the ice replenished, you need merely ask and it will be provided at the subsequent station. And although this train has a dining car, or you may wish to have a request for tea or a meal telegraphed ahead, I thought perhaps a little refreshment would not go amiss.” He gestured at the wicker baskets, and my unreasonable animosity against him retreated a small step.

“Thank you, Mr Cook.” I hoped I did not sound too begrudging. “That was very thoughtful. And I hope the hunt for my missing trunk does not prove too difficult for you.”

“I will not sleep until it is found,” he declared again stoutly.