Since Feluda was now going to start reading the diaries, Lalmohan Babu and I decided to go for a drive soon after a cup of tea at four o’clock. ‘If we go towards the main town, we might get to hear the latest on Sultan,’ Lalmohan Babu told me. ‘Your cousin may have found a mystery related to Mahesh Chowdhury’s death, but I think an escaped tiger is much more interesting.’ We didn’t have far to go to get news of the tiger. We had to stop for petrol at a local station, where we saw another group of men gathered round someone who was speaking very rapidly. He raised a hand and pawed the air, so there was no doubt that he was talking of the tiger. Lalmohan Babu got out of the car and went forward to make enquiries. This wasn’t easy, for his Hindi was not particularly good. However, what we eventually managed to learn was this: To the east of Hazaribagh was a forest, near the town of Vishnugarh. Sultan’s new trainer, Chandran, and a shikari from the Forest Department, had found Sultan there. Apparently, it had looked for a while that the tiger was willing to be captured, but he had then changed his mind and run away again after clawing Chandran. The shikari had shot at him, but no one knew whether the tiger was hurt. Chandran was in a hospital, but his injuries were not serious. ‘Do you know anything about Kandarikar?’ Lalmohan Babu asked his informant. I felt obliged to correct him. ‘It is Karandikar, Lalmohan Babu, not Kandarikar. He’s the old trainer.’ ‘No, I don’t know anything about him,’ the man replied, ‘but I do believe the circus isn’t doing so well since the main show with the tiger is off.’ We were both curious to know how Mr Karandikar had reacted to the news of Sultan being shot at, so we went from the petrol station straight to the Great Majestic. Normally, if Feluda accompanies us, Lalmohan Babu keeps to the background. Today, however, he walked up smartly to the man outside the main entrance and said, ‘Put me through to Mr Kutti, please.’ God knows what the man thought of this strange request, but he let us in without a word. Perhaps he had recognized us from our first visit. We found Mr Kutti in his caravan, but what he told us sounded like another mysterious riddle. Karandikar had disappeared the previous night. ‘The audience has been demanding to see the tiger,’ Mr Kutti said. ‘I went and personally apologized to Karandikar. I promised him I wouldn’t allow anyone else to train the tiger, if it could be captured. Even so, he left without telling a soul. He used to go off occasionally, but he always came back in a few hours. This time . . . I don’t think he’s coming back.’ There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. We thanked Mr Kutti and left the circus. Lalmohan Babu said as we came out, ‘Now we’ll never get to see Sultan being captured, Tapesh. We simply won’t get another chance.’

I, too, felt sad and depressed. So we decided to go for a long drive instead of returning home. Debating over whether to go towards the Kanari Hills in the north, or Ramgarh to the south, we eventually tossed for it and got Ramgarh. ‘There are hills there, didn’t you see them that day? They’re just as beautiful,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked. I agreed with him, and we set off in the direction of Ramgarh. Neither of us had any idea of what lay in store. Things began to go wrong as we passed a signpost that said ‘11 kms’. To start with, Lalmohan Babu’s car—which he had bought only six months ago—hiccuped three times, slowed down and then died altogether. His driver got out to investigate. He was our only hope, for Lalmohan Babu knew nothing of cars and engines. ‘If I can move about without knowing how many bones and what muscles I have in my legs, where is the need to worry about how my car moves on its four wheels?’ he had once said to me. We climbed out of the car and went and sat on a culvert. The sun was about to set, and the time was 5.20 p.m. There were dark patches of clouds in the sky, behind which the sun happened to be hiding at the moment. It peeped out for just a second a little later, only to call it a day almost at once. ‘I think I’ve fixed it, sir!’ the driver called. ‘I am ready when you are.’ We rose, and I looked at my watch. It said 5.33 p.m. It is important to mention the time, for it was at this precise moment that we saw Sultan. I might have described the event in a much more dramatic fashion, but Feluda has always told me not to use cliches and other hackneyed phrases just to create an effect. ‘Keep your descriptions brief and simple,’ he tells me often, ‘and you will see how effective that can be.’ I shall therefore try to relate what happened as briefly as possible. I had seen a tiger in the wild before, about which I have written in The Royal Bengal Mystery. On that occasion, we were accompanied by several other armed men, including Feluda; and Lalmohan Babu and I were sitting on a treetop, out of harm’s way. Now, we were standing by the side of an open road that was lined by trees and woodland. There were bound to be wild bears in the wood, and it was quickly getting dark. Worst of all, Feluda was not with us. The tiger came out of the trees to our right and appeared on the road, barely fifty yards away. All three of us saw it together, for each one turned into a statue. The driver had stretched out