The sound of double shots had brought the local villagers running to the spot. Thrilled to see their enemy killed, they were now making arrangements to tie the tiger to bamboo poles and carry it to their village. There was no doubt that this was the man-eater, for two other bullet marks had been found on its body: one on a hind leg, the other near the jaw. These had clearly made the tiger lose its natural ability to hunt for prey in the wild. Besides, the heavy growth of hair on its jowls indicated it was an old tiger, anyway. Perhaps that was another reason why it had become a man-eater. Parvat Singh had returned and helped his master to get up and sit on one of the broken steps of the temple. Mahitosh Babu was still looking shaken and was wiping his face frequently. Lalmohan Babu had regained consciousness and climbed down from the tree, with a little assistance from me. Then he had calmly taken the sword back, as though carrying a sword and climbing trees was something he did every day. After a few minutes’ silence, Feluda spoke. ‘Mahitosh Babu,’ he said, ‘you are worrying unnecessarily. I had already promised Mr Sanyal I would not disclose any of your secrets. No one will ever find out that you are not a shikari, and that you cannot even hold a gun steadily. I had my suspicions right from the start. Your signature on Lalmohan Babu’s letter made me think you were old. So I began to wonder how you could shoot, if you could not even write with a steady hand. Then I thought perhaps your hands had been affected only recently and all those tales in your books were indeed true. I started to believe this, but something your brother said raised fresh doubts in my mind. Yes, I know most of what he said was irrelevant, but I didn’t think he would actually make up a story. On the contrary, what he said often made perfect sense, if one thought about it. He obviously knew you had written books on shikar, and that the whole thing was based on lies. This distressed him very much, which is why he kept talking about Yudhisthir’s punishment for telling a lie. He also told me not everyone could be like your grandfather. Not everyone could handle weapons . . .’ ‘Yes, they could!’ Mahitosh Babu interrupted, breathing hard and speaking very fast. ‘I killed mynahs and sparrows with my airgun when I was seven, from a distance of fifty yards. But . . .’ he glanced at the peepul tree. ‘One day, we came here for a picnic, and I climbed that tree. In fact, I was sitting on the same branch where your cousin was sitting a while ago, when my brother suddenly said he could see a tiger coming. I jumped down to see the tiger, and—’ ‘—You broke your arm?’ ‘Compound fracture,’ Mr Sanyal stepped forward. ‘It never really healed properly.’ ‘I see. And yet you wanted to be known as a shikari, just because that was your family tradition? So you moved from here and went to Assam and Orissa where no one knew you? It was Mr Sanyal who killed all those animals, but everyone was convinced you were a worthy successor of your forefathers. Is that right, Mahitosh Babu?’

‘Yes,’ Mahitosh Babu sighed deeply, ‘that’s right. What Shashanka did for his friend is unbelievable. He is a much better shikari than anyone in my family.’ ‘But recently . . . were you two drifting apart?’ Both men were silent. Feluda continued, ‘I hadn’t heard of Mahitosh Sinha-Roy before his books began to be published. Nor, I am sure, had thousands of others. But when these books came out, Sinha-Roy became a famous name, didn’t it? He was praised, admired, even revered. And what was his fame based on? Nothing but lies. No one knew the name of Shashanka Sanyal. No one ever would. You had begun to resent this, Mr Sanyal, hadn’t you? You had done a lot for your friend, but perhaps the time had come to draw a line? We heard Mahitosh Babu speak very sternly to someone on our first night. I assume he was speaking to you. You two had started to disagree on most things, hadn’t you?’ Neither man made a reply. Feluda stared steadily at Mahitosh Babu for a few moments. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I shall take silence for assent. But there is another thing. I suppose silence is the only answer to that, as well.’ Mahitosh Babu cast a nervous glance at Feluda. ‘I am now talking of Torit Sengupta,’ Feluda went on. ‘You never wrote a single line yourself, just as you never killed a single animal. You said something about your manuscript, which made me go and look for it in your study. But I didn’t find anything with your handwriting on it. All you ever did was just relate your stories to Mr Sengupta. It was he who wrote them out beautifully. They were his words, his language, his style; yet, everyone thought they were yours, and you earned more praise, also as a gifted writer. Yes, it is true that you paid him well and he lived here in great comfort. But how long could he go on seeing someone else take the credit for his talent, his own hard work? Anyone with creative abilities wants to see his efforts appreciated. If he continued to work for you, there was no way his own name could ever become well known. Disappointed and frustrated, he was probably thinking of leaving, but suddenly you chanced upon that puzzle left by Adityanarayan, and Mr Sengupta saw it. It could be that he had already found references to those coins among your grandfather’s papers; so he knew what the treasure consisted of. He solved the puzzle, and decided to leave with the treasure. He