It was the servant called Kanai who had first noticed that the sword was missing when he went in to dust the room. He informed his master immediately. The room was not locked, since it contained several books and papers which Mahitosh Babu frequently needed to refer to. All the servants were old and trusted. Nothing had been stolen from the house for so many years that people had stopped worrying about theft altogether. What it meant was that anyone in the house could have taken the sword. Feluda examined the glass case carefully, but did not find a clue. It was just the sword that was missing. Everything else was in place. ‘I’d like to see Mr Sengupta’s bedroom, and the study where he worked,’ Feluda said when he had finished. ‘But before I do that, I need to know if you suspect anyone.’ Mahitosh Babu shook his head. ‘No, I simply cannot imagine why anyone should want to kill him. He hardly ever saw anyone outside this house. All he did was go on long walks. If that sword was used to kill him, then it has to be someone from this house who did it. No, Mr Mitter, I cannot help you at all.’ We made our way to Mr Sengupta’s bedroom. It was as large as ours. Among his personal effects were his clothes, a blue suitcase, a shoulder bag and a shaving kit. On a table were a few magazines and books, a writing pad and a couple of pencils. A smaller bedside table held a flask, a glass, a transistor radio and a packet of cigarettes. The suitcase wasn’t locked. Feluda opened it, to find that it was very neatly packed. ‘He was obviously all set to leave for Calcutta,’ he remarked, closing it again. Five minutes later, we came out of the bedroom and went into his study. ‘What exactly did his duties involve?’ Feluda asked Mahitosh Babu. ‘Well, he handled all my correspondence. Then he made copies of my manuscripts, since my own handwriting is really quite bad. He used to go to Calcutta and speak to my publishers on my behalf, and correct the proofs. Of late, he had been helping me gather information about my ancestors to write a history of my family. This meant having to go through heaps of old letters and documents, and making a note of relevant details.’ ‘Did he use these notebooks to record all the information?’ Feluda asked, pointing at the thick, bound notebooks neatly arranged on a desk. Mahitosh Babu nodded. ‘And are these the proofs for your new book he was correcting?’ Stacks of printed sheets were kept on the desk, next to the notebooks. Feluda picked up a few sheets and began leafing through them. ‘Tell me, was Mr Sengupta a very reliable proof-reader?’ Mahitosh Babu looked quite taken aback by the question. ‘Yes, I think so. Why do you ask?’ ‘Look, there’s a mistake in the first paragraph of the first page, which he overlooked. The “a” in the word “roar” is missing; and . . . again, look, the second “e” in “deer” hasn’t been printed. But he

didn’t spot it.’ ‘How strange!’ Mahitosh Babu glanced absently at the mistakes Feluda pointed out. ‘Had he seemed worried about something recently? Did he have anything on his mind?’ ‘Why, no, I hadn’t noticed anything!’ Feluda bent over the desk, and peered at a writing pad on which Mr Sengupta had doodled and drawn little pictures. ‘Did you know he could draw?’ ‘No. No, he had never told me.’ There was nothing else to see. We stepped out of the room and reached the veranda outside. A deep, familiar voice reached our ears, speaking in a somewhat theatrical fashion: ‘Doomed . . . doomed! Destruction and calamity! The very foundation of truth is being rocked . . . the end is nigh!’ We only heard his voice. Devtosh Babu remained out of sight. His brother sighed and said, ‘Every summer, he gets a little worse. He’ll be all right once the rains start, and it cools down.’ We had reached our room. Feluda said, ‘I was thinking of going back to the forest tomorrow. I need to search . . . find things for myself. What do you say?’ Mahitosh Babu thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘Well, I don’t think the tiger will return to the spot where Torit’s body was found, at least not during the day. That’s what my experience with tigers tells me, anyway. So if you stay relatively close to that area, you’re going to be safe. To tell you the truth, what I find most surprising is that a large tiger is still left in Kalbuni!’ ‘May we take Madhavlal with us, and a jeep?’ ‘Certainly.’ Mahitosh Babu left. The police had to be informed about the missing sword. It was now quite dark outside, although the sky was absolutely clear. Lalmohan Babu switched the fan on and sat down on his bed. ‘Did you think you’d get a murder mystery on a short holiday? It’s a bonus, isn’t it, Felu Babu? You have to thank me for it,’ he laughed. ‘Sure, Lalmohan Babu, I am most thankful,’ Feluda replied, sounding a little preoccupied. He had picked up two things from Torit Sengupta’s room and brought them back with him. One was a book on the history of Coochbehar, and the other was the writing pad. I saw him staring at the little pictures, frowning deeply. ‘These are not just funny doodles,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I am sure it has a meaning. What could it be? Why do I feel there’s something familiar about these pictures?’ Lalmohan Babu and I went and stood next to him. Mr Sengupta had drawn a tree on the pad. A tree with a solid trunk and several leafy branches. A few leaves were lying loose at the bottom of the tree. Their base was broad, but