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fascinated by speed—from racing motorcycles to fast trains, fast aeroplanes and fast cars. It had always been his ambition to own a car—not a Rolls or a Mercedes which are merely status symbols—but a really smart, fast car. During his extensive travels abroad Navin had inspected many models and studied several motoring magazines. And finally he was captivated by this bright red Jaguar. He willingly paid the heavy import duties and brought his toy home, a toy that soon became famous in the capital.
    Having crossed two lanes of the smart Vasant Vihar residential area, Navin turned his car into the driveway of an elegant house and came to a halt a few metres from the garage. He took out a small box-like instrument from his pocket. It had two buttons; Navin pressed the one on the left. The garage door went up smoothly, making room for Navin to drive in.
    A well equipped home in Vasant Vihar, an imported sports car, foreign trips … one would have thought that Navin was a film star or a successful industrialist. But the reality was otherwise. For despite his liking for modern conveniences, Navin was basically interested in old things—the older the better. He was an expert and highly successful consultant to the Archaeology Department. As he always pointed out, the latest devices of modern science are indispensable for research into ancient relics. The secret of Navin’s achievements lay in his appreciation of the latest techniques in archaeology which he used with great flair. The numerous additions to the museums run by the Archaeological Survey bore ample testimony to his efforts.
    However, even an internationally recognized expert in archaeology like Navin would have found it hard to explain how he had acquired all his wealth. Had he been married, he could have pointed to a wealthy father-in-law as the source of his material welfare. But Navin regarded himself as one of nature’s bachelors, one who went as far as acquiring a bevy of girlfriends, but not a wife. So he had to explain it all as inherited income and ensure adequately that the Income Tax Department would not probe the matter too deeply.
    ‘Well, Ram Sevak, what’s new?’ Navin asked his usual question as he threw himself down on his favourite couch. Ram Sevak, his trusted servant, was already setting up the decanter on the low table by the side. He knew that his master enjoyed a ‘scotch on the rocks’ after returning from work.
    ‘Miss Runa called, sir. She has invited you for dinner. So I have not bothered to cook anything here.’ Ram Sevak was correct in his assessment, for Runa happened to be the current favourite amongst Navin’s friends.
    ‘And, sir, a peon delivered this letter for you’, Ram Sevak added, pointing to an envelope on the drinks tray.
    ‘Fine, Ram Sevak … go and enjoy yourself for the evening.’ Navin’s face was benign in anticipation of his own enjoyment later in the day.
    ‘Thank you, sir.’ Ram Sevak had already telephoned a friend to get tickets for a film in a cinema house in Connaught Place.
    As Ram Sevak withdrew, Navin idly reached for the decanter—when he saw the envelope. The sender’s name was not on it, but a look at the monogram embossed on the back brought a frown to the benign face. Reluctantly, he opened the envelope. It contained a typed but unsigned two-line message:
    It’s been a long time since we met. Must rectify the omission. See you in Sheesh Mahal, Hotel Akbar, 8 p.m.—without fail.
    Without fail! Those were the operative words. The summons had come—he had to obey. Navin dialled the phone.
    ‘Runa? … Navin here. Yes, I got your message. But … listen Runa, I just cannot make it tonight. I … Don’t misunderstand Runa, it’s not like that … Oh, what’s the use!’ he muttered to himself as he heard the abrupt click at the other end.
    The Swiss cuckoo clock reminded Navin that it was seven-fifty. He got up to leave, his drink untasted.
    At eight on the dot Navin entered the