True to his word, Lalmohan Babu returned the manuscript the following day. Feluda thanked him and said, ‘I am afraid we haven’t got time for a cup of tea. I spoke to G; he wants to see us in half an hour.’ The man who opened the door at 90 Ripon Street was bald, but had white hair round his ears. The rather impressive moustache he sported was also totally white. ‘Mr Mitter? I am George Higgins,’ he said. He shook hands with all of us, then took us to his living room. It was a big house with a large compound. I noticed two big cages, one of which contained a tiger, and the other a hyena. I might as well be in a zoo, I thought. ‘You are a detective?’ Mr Higgins asked Feluda when we were all seated. ‘Yes, a private one,’ Feluda replied. ‘I see. So . . . you’ve spoken to Munshi, have you? I must admit he helped me a lot when I was in trouble.’ ‘If that is so, why did you threaten him?’ Higgins was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Well, one reason for that was I had had a bit too much to drink that night. But tell me, is it not natural that I should feel anxious? Do you know what my father was? Just a station master. And look at me! I have done so well in life, simply through my own efforts and hard work. I have a monopoly in this business. I am well-known as the only man who deals with exporting animals. If Munshi’s book is published, and if his readers can recognize me simply from the initial G, can you imagine how badly my business is going to be affected?’ In reply, Feluda had to repeat what he had told Arun Sengupta. There was nothing George Higgins could do legally; and if he decided to break the law in the hope of saving his reputation, things could only get worse. ‘Is that what you really want?’ Feluda asked him, raising his voice a little. ‘Do you think doing something unlawful will enhance your prestige?’ Higgins fell silent once more. Then I heard him mutter: ‘I don’t regret having killed that Swedish swine. If I could get the chance, I’d kill him again. Bahadur . . . my leopard . . . how I loved him! . . . He was only four years old. And that stupid oaf had him killed, for nothing!’ No one said anything in reply. Higgins seemed lost in thought. Finally, he looked up and suddenly slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Very well,’ he said clearly. ‘Go and tell Munshi I don’t give a damn what he does with his diary. I don’t care if I am recognized. Nothing can harm my business. I know it.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Higgins. Thank you very much.’

Feluda had already rung Dr Munshi and told him about Arun Sengupta. Now we went to his house to report on George Higgins. Besides, the manuscript had to be returned. Dr Munshi thanked us profusely and said to Feluda, ‘You have done a splendid job, Mr Mitter. You may go home and relax now.’ ‘Are you sure?’ What about R?’ ‘He’s all right, he’ll never raise any objections. Don’t worry about R, Mr Mitter. Send me your bill and I will pay it immediately.’ ‘Thank you.’ We came back. ‘Felu Babu,’ said Jatayu on reaching home, ‘can you really call this a case?’ ‘You can call it a mini case; or a case-let.’ ‘Yes, I guess that’s quite apt.’ ‘What amazes me is that all these people committed serious crimes, and yet continued to live normal lives. No one was caught and punished by the law.’ ‘Exactly. That’s what I was thinking, too. I was trying to remember how many people I knew closely thirty years ago, and what eventually happened to them. After hours of thinking, I could remember just one man. A fellow called Chatterjee. I used to go to the cinema with him, see football matches, spend hours in the coffee house.’ ‘Where is he now?’ ‘God knows. I cannot even recall how I lost touch with him. He just vanished from my life.’ Lalmohan Babu dropped by for a chat the next day. ‘Why do you appear a bit depressed?’ he asked Feluda. ‘Is it because you are out of a job?’ ‘No, sir. I am not depressed. It’s just that I am still very curious about R. I wish I knew who he was. I can’t rest easy until I find that out. It would have been simpler if R had also made threats.’ ‘Rotten, rubbish, ridiculous!’ said Lalmohan Babu emphatically. ‘Let R go to hell. You’re being paid in full, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well then, you should forget the whole thing, Felu Babu.’ The phone rang. I answered it. It was Shankar Munshi. I passed the receiver to Feluda. ‘Hello?’ said Feluda and listened intently for the next few seconds. A deep frown appeared between his brows as Shankar Munshi began speaking. Then he simply said ‘hmm’ and ‘yes’ a couple of times before putting the phone down. ‘I can hardly believe what I just heard,’ he said, turning to us. ‘Dr Munshi has been murdered, and his manuscript is missing.’ ‘My God!’ ‘We thought the case was over, didn’t we? This is just the beginning.’ We left immediately in Lalmohan Babu’s car without wasting another second. The police had already arrived at Munshi Palace. The inspector in charge—Inspector Shome— happened to know Feluda. ‘He was killed in the middle of the night,’ he said. ‘Struck on the back of his head by a heavy instrument.’ ‘Who was the first to find the body?’

‘His bearer. He took him a cup of tea at six o’clock, as he did every day. That’s when he saw what had happened. Dr Munshi’s son was not at home. We were