It was three days before the Sikhs were curious enough to to look in the white man's bungalow. They found nothing but an open window, an overturned chair and half-finished journal entry. They did not need to see the pawprint in the mud outside the window to know what had happened to him.

Life would return to normal, now. They would go back to their habit of tying up troublemakers and criminals and leaving them in the jungle, and the tiger would otherwise leave the village alone.

The Sikhs shrugged and went on with their day: the hunters were no longer a problem for anyone concerned. Only the Englishman's former mistress would have had any real cause for distress, and if anyone noticed her sly smile at this turn of events, this made no comment.