“I thought he was with you,” said the latter, looking anxiously at the hermit.

“He’s goed an’ lost hisself!” cried Moses with a look of concern.

Van der Kemp was a man of action.  “Not a moment to lose,” he said, and organised the band into several smaller parties, each led by a native familiar with the jungle.

“Let this be our meeting-place,” he said, as they were on the point of starting off together; “and let those of us who have fire-arms discharge them occasionally.”

Meanwhile, the professor was walking at full speed in what he supposed to be—­and in truth was—­“back.”

He was not alone, however.  In the jungle close beside him a tiger prowled along with the stealthy, lithe, sneaking activity of a cat.  By that time it was not absolutely dark, but the forest had assumed a very sombre appearance.  Suddenly the tiger made a tremendous bound on to the track right in front of the man.  Whether it had miscalculated the position of its intended victim or not we cannot say, but it crouched for another spring.  The professor, almost instinctively, crouched also, and, being a brave man, stared the animal straight in the face without winking! and so the two crouched there, absolutely motionless and with a fixed glare, such as we have often seen in a couple of tom-cats who were mutually afraid to attack each other.

What the tiger thought at that critical and crucial moment we cannot tell, but the professor’s thoughts were swift, varied, tremendous—­almost sublime, and once or twice even ridiculous!

“Vat shall I do?  Deaf stares me in zee face!  No veapons! only a net, ant he is not a bootterfly!  Science, adieu!  Home of my chilthood, farevell!  My moder—­Hah! zee fusees!”

Such were a few of the thoughts that burned but found no utterance.  The last thought however led to action.  Verkimier, foolish man! was a smoker.  He carried fusees.  Slowly, with no more apparent motion than the hour-hand on the face of a watch, he let his hand glide into his coat-pocket and took out the box of fusees.  The tiger seemed uneasy, but the bold man never for one instant ceased to glare, and no disturbed expression or hasty movement gave the tiger the slightest excuse for a spring.  Bringing the box up by painfully slow degrees in front of his nose the man opened it, took out a fusee, struck it, and revealed the blue binoculars!

The effect on the tiger was instantaneous and astounding.  With a demi-volt or backward somersault it hurled itself into the jungle whence it had come with a terrific roar of alarm, and its tail—­undoubtedly though not evidently—­between its legs!

Heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, the professor stood up and wiped his forehead.  Then he listened intently.

“A shote, if mine ears deceive me not!” he said, and listened again.

He was right.  Another shot, much nearer, was heard, and he replied with a shout to which joy as much as strength of lung gave fervour.  Hurrying along the track—­not without occasional side-glances at the jungle—­the hero was soon again in the midst of his friends; and it was not until his eyes refused to remain open any longer that he ceased to entertain an admiring circle that night with the details of his face-to-face meeting with a tiger.