The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock. Feluda was already up, and had finished doing his yoga, bathing and shaving. Mr Sengupta was supposed to collect us at eight, and take us to the temple. One of the three bearers, called Kanai, brought us our morning tea at half past seven. Feluda picked up his cup, then went back to staring at the notebook lying open in his lap. ‘Bravo, Adityanarayan!’ I heard him murmur. ‘What a brain you had!’ Lalmohan Babu slurped his tea noisily, and said, ‘Very good tea, I must say. Why, Felu Babu, have you made any progress?’ Feluda continued to mutter, ‘“Half ten”. That’s five. “Half again, century”. Century would mean a hundred, so half of that is fifty. Five and fifty, that’s fifty-five. OK, he probably means fifty-five paces. But what does it relate to? The tree? What is a people’s tree? I must think . . .’ My heart lifted suddenly. He had started to solve the riddle. I felt sure he’d be able to get the entire meaning before we left—with the tiger skin, of course. The clock outside struck eight. Mr Sengupta should be here soon, I thought. A few minutes passed, but there was no sign of him. Feluda didn’t seem to be aware of the delay. He was still engrossed in the puzzle. ‘Rising sun?’ I heard him say. ‘Could it mean the east? Yes. Fifty-five paces to the east of something. What can it mean? The tree . . . the tree . . .’ Someone knocked on the door. It was Shashanka Sanyal, not Mr Sengupta. ‘Er . . . haven’t you finished your tea? Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. Feluda put his notebook away and got to his feet. Mr Sanyal was looking visibly upset. ‘What is it? What is the matter?’ Feluda asked quickly. Mr Sanyal cleared his throat, then spoke somewhat absently, ‘There’s some bad news, Mr Mitter. Torit Sengupta . . . Mahitosh’s secretary . . . died last night.’ ‘Wha-at! How?’ Feluda asked. Lalmohan Babu and I simply stared speechlessly. ‘It seems he went into the forest last night. No one knows why. His body was found only a little while ago, by a woodcutter.’ ‘But how did he die? What happened?’ ‘Apparently, his body has been partially eaten by some animal. Quite possibly, a tiger.’ The man-eater! My hands suddenly felt cold and clammy. Lalmohan Babu had been standing in the middle of the room. He now took three steps backwards to grab the corner of a table and lean against it. Feluda stood still, looking extremely grim. ‘I am sorry,’ Mr Sanyal said again. ‘You only came yesterday for a holiday and now this has happened. I’m afraid we are going to be rather busy . . . I mean, we have to go and see the body for ourselves, naturally.’

‘Can we go with you?’ At this question, Mr Sanyal glanced swiftly at us and said, ‘You may