So he hurried to the border to intercept the messenger before he crossed it.  But here, too, he was unsuccessful.  Certain that the Brahmin had not slipped through the meshes of the net formed by his secret service of subsidised Bhuttias, Dermot returned to the jungle to make search for him along the way.  But all to no avail, much to his chagrin; for he had reason to hope that he would find on the emissary proof enough of the treason of the rulers of Lalpuri to hang them.  He went back to Malpura to prosecute enquiries.

To console himself for his disappointment Dermot determined to have a day’s shooting in the jungle, a treat he rarely had leisure for now.  He invited the Dalehams to accompany him.  Noreen accepted eagerly, but her brother was obliged to decline, much to his regret.  For Parry was now always in a state bordering on lunacy, and his brutal treatment of the coolies, when his assistant was not there to restrain him, several times nearly drove them into open revolt.  So Dermot and his companion set off alone.

As they went along they chanced to pass near a little village buried in the heart of the jungle.  A man working on the small patch of cleared soil in which he and his fellows grew their scanty crops saw them, recognised Badshah and his male rider, and ran away shouting to the hamlet.  Then out of it swarmed men, women, and children, the last naked, while only miserable rags clothed the skinny frames of their elders.  All prostrated themselves in the dust in Badshah’s path.  The elephant stopped.  Then a wizened old man with scanty white beard raised his hands imploringly to Dermot.

“Lord!  Holy One!  Have mercy on us!”

The rest chorused:  “Have mercy!”

“Spare thy slaves, O Lord!” went on the old man.  “Spare us ere all perish.  We worship at thy shrine.  We grudge not thy elephants our miserable crops.  Are they not thy servants?  But let not the Striped Death slay all of us.”

Dermot questioned him and then explained to Noreen that a man-eating tiger had taken up its residence near the village and was rapidly killing off its inhabitants.

“Oh, do help them,” she said.  “Can’t you shoot it?”

He reflected for a few moments.

“Yes, I think I know how to get it.  Will you wait for me in the village?”

“What?  Mayn’t I go with you to see you kill it?  Please let me.  I promise I’ll not scream or be stupid.”

He looked at her admiringly.

“Bravo!” he said.  “I’m sure you’ll be all right.  Very well.  I promise you you shall see a sight that not many other women have seen.”

He borrowed a puggri—­a strip of cotton cloth several yards long—­from a villager, and bade them show him where the tiger lay up during the heat of the day.  When they had done so from a safe distance, he turned Badshah, and, to Noreen’s surprise, sped off swiftly in the opposite direction.

Suddenly the girl touched his arm quietly.