’Burkhardt, a German with whom I was shooting, was down with fever and could not stir from his bed.  I was awakened one night by the uneasiness of my oxen, and I heard the roaring of lions close at hand.  I took my carbine and came out of my tent.  There was only the meagre light of the moon.  I walked alone, for I knew natives could be of no use to me.  Presently I came upon the carcass of an antelope, half-consumed, and I made up my mind to wait for the return of the lions.  I hid myself among the boulders twenty paces from the prey.  All about me was the immensity of Africa and the silence.  I waited, motionless, hour after hour, till the dawn was nearly at hand.  At last three lions appeared over a rock.  I had noticed, the day before, spoor of a lion and two females.’

‘May I ask how you could distinguish the sex?’ asked Arthur, incredulously.

’The prints of a lion’s fore feet are disproportionately larger than those of the hind feet.  The fore feet and hind feet of the lioness are nearly the same size.’

‘Pray go on,’ said Susie.

’They came into full view, and in the dim light, as they stood chest on, they appeared as huge as the strange beasts of the Arabian tales.  I aimed at the lioness which stood nearest to me and fired.  Without a sound, like a bullock felled at one blow, she dropped.  The lion gave vent to a sonorous roar.  Hastily I slipped another cartridge in my rifle.  Then I became conscious that he had seen me.  He lowered his head, and his crest was erect.  His lifted tail was twitching, his lips were drawn back from the red gums, and I saw his great white fangs.  Living fire flashed from his eyes, and he growled incessantly.  Then he advanced a few steps, his head held low; and his eyes were fixed on mine with a look of rage.  Suddenly he jerked up his tail, and when a lion does this he charges.  I got a quick sight on his chest and fired.  He reared up on his hind legs, roaring loudly and clawing at the air, and fell back dead.  One lioness remained, and through the smoke I saw her spring to her feet and rush towards me.  Escape was impossible, for behind me were high boulders that I could not climb.  She came on with hoarse, coughing grunts, and with desperate courage I fired my remaining barrel.  I missed her clean.  I took one step backwards in the hope of getting a cartridge into my rifle, and fell, scarcely two lengths in front of the furious beast.  She missed me.  I owed my safety to that fall.  And then suddenly I found that she had collapsed.  I had hit her after all.  My bullet went clean through her heart, but the spring had carried her forwards.  When I scrambled to my feet I found that she was dying.  I walked back to my camp and ate a capital breakfast.’

Oliver Haddo’s story was received with astonished silence.  No one could assert that it was untrue, but he told it with a grandiloquence that carried no conviction.  Arthur would have wagered a considerable sum that there was no word of truth in it.  He had never met a person of this kind before, and could not understand what pleasure there might be in the elaborate invention of improbable adventures.