Seven Swinhoe Street did not seem to be the house of a doctor at all. Close to the front door stood a Royal Bengal tiger, over which the head of a bison was fixed on the wall. Shankar Munshi met us downstairs, then took us to their living room on the first floor. The walls of this room also bore evidence of Dr Munshi’s years as a shikari. How did he get the time to kill so many animals if he was a busy doctor? He arrived in less than a minute. All his hair had turned white, I noted, but he was still quite strong and agile. He shook Feluda’s hand and said, ‘You appear very fit. You do physical exercises every day, don’t you? Good, good. I am so glad you decided not to neglect your body even if you have to use your brain so much more in your job.’ Then he glanced at us. Feluda made the introductions. ‘Are these people trustworthy?’ Dr Munshi asked. ‘Absolutely,’ Feluda replied. ‘Tapesh is my cousin and Mr Ganguli is a very close friend.’ ‘I see. I have to make sure, you see, because today I am going to tell you who the three men are, about whom I have written in my diary. I know you cannot help me unless you know the truth, but I don’t want another soul to hear of it.’ ‘Please don’t worry about it, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu reassured him. ‘No one will learn anything from us.’ ‘Very well.’ ‘We have already heard about the written threat,’ Feluda said. ‘Something else has happened, Mr Mitter. I received a verbal threat as well, on the telephone last night at around half past eleven. He was totally drunk, I think. It was Higgins. George Higgins.’ ‘The G in your diary?’ ‘Yes. He said, “I was a fool to accept what you told me. I am still running the same business that I used to when I went to you for treatment. In my field, I am virtually the only man who runs such a business. So loads of people are likely to recognize me simply from my initial. Leave me out of your book.” I could hardly reason with a drunkard. So I put the phone down. I can see that talking to these people on the phone won’t do. I really ought to visit them and have a face-to-face chat. But I am so busy with my patients every day that I don’t think I shall ever find the time. That’s why I’d like you to see them on my behalf. You’ll have to visit only A and G. I’ve spoken to R. He doesn’t think anyone will recognize him just from his initial.’ ‘I see. Who are these three people?’ ‘Have you got a pen and piece of paper?’ Feluda took out his notebook and his pen.

‘A stands for Arun Sengupta,’ Dr Munshi went on. ‘He is the general manager of McNeil Company, and the vice president of Rotary Club. He lives at 11 Roland Road. You’ll get his telephone number from the directory.’ Feluda noted everything down quickly. ‘G is George Higgins,’ said Dr Munshi. ‘His business is to catch wild animals and export them abroad for foreign television. His address is 90 Ripon Street. He is an Anglo-Indian. I am not going to tell you who R is, unless it becomes absolutely necessary to do so.’ ‘What crime did A and G commit?’ ‘Look, I’ll let you take my manuscript and read it. Read the whole thing, and then tell me if you think I have written anything so damaging about anyone that they can sue me.’ ‘Very well. In that case—’ Feluda had to stop, for three men had entered the room. Dr Munshi introduced them. ‘These people live with me, apart from my wife and my son. All of them wanted to meet you when they heard you were coming. This is my secretary, Sukhamoy Chakravarty; and this is my brother-in- law, Chandranath.’ Sukhamoy Chakravarty was probably no more than forty. He wore glasses. Chandranath was much older, possibly in his mid-fifties. For some reason, he looked as if he didn’t have a job or an income of his own and that he merely lived with the Munshis. ‘And this is one of my patients, Radhakanta Mallik. He’s still under treatment. He’ll remain here until he recovers fully.’ Radhakanta Mallik—a man in his late thirties—seemed oddly restless, blinking every now and then and cracking his knuckles. Why was he so nervous? If that was his ailment, he seemed a long way from recovery. After greetings had been exchanged, Mr Mallik and Chandranath left, but Sukhamoy Chakravarty remained in the room. ‘Please get my manuscript and give it to Mr Mitter,’ Dr Munshi told his secretary. Mr Chakravarty went out and returned in a couple of minutes, carrying a thick, heavy envelope. ‘That is the only copy,’ Dr Munshi told us. ‘Sukhamoy will type it out before we pass it on to the publishers.’ ‘Don’t worry, I’ll handle it very carefully. I am fully aware of its value,’ Feluda replied. We rose to take our leave. Shankar Munshi saw us off at the front door. We got into Lalmohan Babu’s green Ambassador and left. On our way back, Lalmohan Babu spoke suddenly: ‘I have a request, Felu Babu!’ he said. ‘What is it?’ ‘I want to read that manuscript after you. You’ll have to lend it to me for a couple of days, please don’t say no.’ ‘Why are you so keen?’ ‘I love reading tales of shikar. I find them quite irresistible . . . please, Felu Babu, do not refuse.’ ‘All right. You may take it, but only for a day. Dr Munshi stopped going on shikar after 1965. A day should be enough to read the chapters where he speaks of animals and hunting. Remember, Lalmohan Babu, you must return the manuscript the day after you take it