‘Namaskar,’ Feluda replied, returning his greeting. ‘Yesterday, we met briefly at Keventer’s, if you remember.’ ‘Yes, of course. You are Harinarayan Mukherjee, aren’t you?’ ‘That’s right. I must say you have a sharp memory. May I sit here with you for a few minutes?’ ‘Certainly.’ Feluda moved aside to make room for him on the bench. He sat down between Feluda and Lalmohan Babu. ‘You live near Nayanpur Villa, don’t you?’ ‘Yes. I’ve lived here for eleven years.’ ‘I see. You must have heard of the tragedy, so close to your house.’ ‘I have indeed. It’s all very sad, but not totally unexpected, is it?’ ‘Is that what you think?’ ‘I say this because I had known Birupaksha Majumdar a long time. I cannot say we were intimate friends, for he was somewhat reserved by nature; but I had heard a lot about him.’ ‘How?’ ‘I spent nearly ten years in a place called Neelkanthapur in Madhya Pradesh. I was a geologist, working on the local rocks. Mr Majumdar once came to Neelkanthapur, at the invitation of Raja Prithvi Singh, to go tiger hunting on his estate. They had known each other for some time. Mr Majumdar was then in his mid-thirties, I think. Both men had one thing in common. Neither liked to shoot from a high machaan, or even from an elephant. They wanted to go on foot, without taking the help of beaters, and shoot a tiger at close range from the ground. That’s what led to that terrible accident.’ ‘Why, what happened?’ ‘Mr Majumdar hit a man instead of a tiger.’ ‘What!’ ‘Yes. It’s the truth.’ ‘You mean a local villager, or someone like that?’ ‘No. That might have made matters simpler. The man who died was a professor of history in a college, and a Bengali. He was called Sudheer Brahma. Although he taught history, his main interest in life was ayurveda. While the Raja and Mr Majumdar were looking for a tiger, he was roaming around in the forest looking for herbs. Unfortunately, he was draped in a yellow wrapper. Mr Majumdar saw a flash of yellow through some thick foliage, and mistaking it for a tiger, fired a shot. The bullet went straight into Brahma’s stomach. He died instantly.

‘Prithvi Singh had to spend a lot of money and pull a lot of strings to keep this quiet. I should know, for I was a friend of Sudheer Brahma. Mr Majumdar got away with it that time, but in his heart he obviously knew he was a criminal. He had killed a man, never mind if it was only by mistake. He hadn’t paid for it, had he? So how long do you suppose he could go on living, weighed down by this awful load of guilt?’ ‘Do you happen to think there is a link between the present tragedy and what happened so many years ago?’ ‘You are a detective, Mr Mitter, you know about murder and motives. Perhaps I ought to