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pride wounded. “They’re international criminals!”
    Chandler and Uncle Rudyard looked at Agatha, waiting.
    “Puppets and souvenirs aren’t the usual loot for professional thieves,” she explained. “I just flipped through one of my memory drawers and pictured one of Mom’s medical texts. I wasskimming through it a couple of months ago…” She paused for a moment, closing her eyes in concentration. When she reopened them, she asked in a whisper, “Have you ever heard of kleptomania?”
    Chandler frowned. “Give us a hint,” said Dash.
    “It’s an uncontrollable urge to steal objects that have little value, just for the pleasure of doing it,” Agatha explained as Uncle Rudyard scanned the list of thefts on the EyeNet.
    “This is a list of trinkets!” he snorted. “It’s all worthless junk!”
    “Since the Bengal Pearl is invaluable,” Chandler concluded, “it seems obvious they didn’t steal it.”
    “Excellent deduction!” Agatha congratulated him.
    Dash slumped back into his seat, sighing deeply.
    Agatha passed Watson a tidbit of tandoori chicken. “Don’t worry, Dash,” she consoled him. “Deshpande’s list still has one name on it: Brahman Sangali. Do you know him, Uncle?”
    Rudyard Mistery shook his head. “Never met the man.”
    “All right, let’s go have a chat with him,” proposed the girl. She picked up her purse and headed downstairs. Watson trotted behind her.
    The others quickly followed, switching on their flashlights as they left the Tiger Hotel.
    It was just past 7:30, but there were few lights in the village. The people of Chotoka rose with the sun and had already retired to their homes to sleep. There wasn’t a living soul on the main street as Agatha and her companions made their way toward the temple. The road became steeper and narrower the farther they went into the jungle. Dash tried very hard not to think about scorpions, snakes, leopards, and tigers.
    After a short while, they heard voices. Snapping off their flashlights, they walked forward cautiously until they reached the edge of a clearing where a group of faithful devotees sang sacred chants by the glow of small fires.
    The air was thick with the musky scent of incense. Through the spiraling smoke, Agatha caught sight of the ancient sanctuary. Her mouth fell open.
    It was a square stone tower, some forty feet tall, surrounded by narrow stone steps. Every level was decorated with frescoes and stone carvings dedicated to the goddess Kali. In the flickering firelight, it gave off a spooky, menacing air.
    “Look, there’s a guard at the temple door,” whispered Dash. “Captain Deshpande still has it under surveillance.”
    “That’s strange,” Chandler said. “Since he already thinks he’s got the culprit.”
    “Maybe he’s waiting until Amitav Chandra is found, too,” suggested Uncle Rudyard in his booming voice.

    The groups of kneeling devotees suddenly realized they weren’t alone and stopped chanting their sacred litany.
    One of them stood up abruptly, advancing in large strides, his finger to his lips. He wore a black tunic that left his sinewy arms bare, and a full white beard framed his face.
    In spite of his priestly robes, he had a sinister presence.
    Agatha decided to make the first move. “Good evening, Brahman Sangali,” she whispered, clasping her hands and bowing.
    He paused for a moment, then signaled to the devotees to resume their chanting. Then he ushered the foreigners behind a large tree. “Have we met before, Miss?” he asked in a low voice.
    The girl followed her instincts. “Amitav Chandra told me about your differences of opinion,” she lied. “You two didn’t agree on much, did you?”

    Brahman Sangali looked very uncomfortable. “We had different duties,” he mumbled. “He was the temple’s custodian, and I oversee the sacred rituals. It’s normal for minor disagreements to come up from time to time.”
    Dash understood Agatha’s plan. She was putting the