By the time Mahesh Chowdhury was brought home, it was half past two. He was still unconscious. Judging by the injury on his head, he had been standing when he fell. The doctor who examined him said it was a heart attack. His heart was not particularly strong, anyway. The attack might have been caused by a sudden shock. His overall condition was critical; the doctor could not hold out much hope for a recovery. He was found lying in an area behind a large boulder. We could see the boulder from where we sat, but not what lay behind it. None of us had seen him go there. Pritin Babu, who had climbed up a slope to go into the trees on the top of a hill, found him on his way back, as he came out in the open and looked down. At first, he had thought his father had died. That was why he had rushed to us, looking deathly pale. Feluda felt Mr Chowdhury’s pulse and said he was still alive. His head had struck against a stone the size of a brick. A pool of blood lay around it. Like everyone else, I felt dazed, but couldn’t help noticing two pretty yellow butterflies fluttering around the unconscious man. A minute later, we were joined first by Arun Babu, and then Akhil Chakravarty. Shankarlal was the last to arrive. He broke down immediately as he realized what had happened. There could be no doubt about his attachment and devotion to the old man. It was clearly impossible for us to pick him up and carry him across the river. His two sons left at once to go back and get an ambulance. It took them more than two hours to return with a medical team, and another hour to move their father away in the ambulance. All of us returned to Kailash and remained there for a while. Since no one had had any lunch, Neelima Devi served the food that had been packed for the picnic: parathas, aloo-dum and kababs. Once she had got over the initial shock, she had regained her composure fully. I had to admire her. Little Bibi was the only one who didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. She kept saying her Dadu had simply had a dizzy spell, and would soon be playing with her again. We waited in the drawing room. Arun Babu remained upstairs with his father, and Pritin Chowdhury came and joined us every now and then. Shankarlal was sitting still like a statue. He hadn’t spoken a single word since we left Rajrappa. Akhil Chakravarty was saying the same thing over and over: ‘I told him not to go out today, but he didn’t listen to me!’ We left at around four o’clock. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow,’ Feluda told Pritin Babu. ‘Please do let us know if we can do anything to help.’ ‘Thank you.’ On reaching our own house, each of us had a quick wash before going and sitting on the front veranda. I was still feeling dazed. Feluda wasn’t speaking much, which meant he was thinking hard. I knew he wouldn’t like being disturbed, but there was something I felt I had to ask him. ‘I heard the

doctor say Mr Chowdhury’s heart attack might have been caused by a sudden shock. How could he have received a shock in Rajrappa, Feluda?’ ‘Good question. That is what I’ve been thinking. Of course, we don’t know that for a fact.’ ‘So all we need to do is wait until Mr Chowdhury gets better. Then the whole thing will become clear,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked. ‘Yes. But will he get better?’ Feluda sounded doubtful. He was clearly curious about Mahesh Chowdhury. While we were waiting in the drawing room, I saw him looking closely at the books and every other object in the room. He did this very discreetly, but I knew he was making a mental note of everything he saw. The group photograph of all the Chowdhurys seemed to intrigue him the most. He spent at least five minutes looking at it closely. Drums were beating in a distant village. It suddenly made me think of the escaped tiger. Obviously, it had not been captured, or Bulakiprasad would have told us. It was now quite chilly outside. Lalmohan Babu pulled his cap tighter and said, ‘It’s significant, isn’t it?’ Perhaps he had expected one of us to ask him what he meant by that; but when we didn’t, he expanded further, ‘When Mr Chowdhury suffered this heart attack, we were with Neelima Devi and that little girl was playing with her doll. But we know nothing of the movements of the others, do we?’ ‘Yes, we do,’ Feluda replied. ‘Arun Babu was trying to kill birds, Pritin Babu was recording bird calls, Akhil Chakravarty was looking for his friend, Shankarlal was chatting with a sadhu, and the two bearers were sitting under a cotton tree, smoking beedis.’ ‘Yes, I saw them. But what about the others? They were all out of sight. How do we know they’re telling the truth?’ ‘There is absolutely no reason to think they are not. I don’t know them well, and I’m not prepared to start by treating them with suspicion.’ ‘OK, you’re right, Felu Babu.’ But Lalmohan Babu had more to tell. It came a few hours later, while we were at dinner. I saw him give a sudden start, slap his forehead and say, ‘Oh no, no!’ ‘Whatever is the matter, Lalmohan Babu?’ Feluda asked. ‘I forgot to tell you something—something very important. I found another clue, a terrific one this time. As we got close to the spot where the body—sorry, I mean Mr Chowdhury—was lying, I stumbled against an object. It was Pritin Chowdhury’s tape recorder.’ ‘Have you got it with you?’ ‘No. I thought I’d pick it up later and give it back to him. But with all the hue and cry and