She and her maid arrived last, as it was growing dusk.  We had already seen what there was to see of the town.  We had been to the post-office on the white man’s habitual hunt, for mail that we knew was non-existent.  And I had had the first adventure.

I walked away from The post-office alone, trying to puzzle out by myself the meaning of Lady Saffren Waldon’s pursuit of us, and of her friendship with the Germans, and her probable connection with Georges Coutlass and his riff-raff.  I had not gone far either on my stroll or with the problem—­perhaps two hundred yards down a grassy track that they had told me led toward a settlement—­when something, not a sound, not a smell, and certainly not sight, for I was staring at the ground, caused me to look up.  My foot was raised for a forward step, but what I saw then made me set it down again.

To my right front, less than ten yards away, was a hillock about twice my own height.  To my left front, about twelve yards away was another, slightly higher; and the track passed between them.  On the right-hand hillock stood a male lion, full maned, his forelegs well apart and the dark tuft on the end of his tail appearing every instant to one side or the other as be switched it cat-fashion.  He was staring down at me with a sort of scandalized interest; and there was nothing whatever for me to do but stare at him.  I had no weapon.  One spring and a jump and I was his meat.  To run was cowardice as well as foolishness, the one because the other.  And without pretending to be able to read a lion’s thoughts I dare risk the assertion that he was puzzled what to do with me.  I could very plainly see his claws coming in and out of their sheaths, and what with that, and the switching tail, and the sense of impotence I could not take my eyes off him.  So I did not look at the other hillock at first.

But a sound like that a cat makes calling to her kittens, only greatly magnified, made me glance to the left in a hurry.  I think that up to that moment I had not had time to be afraid, but now the goose-flesh broke out all over me, and the sensation up and down my spine was of melting helplessness.

On the left-hand hillock a lioness stood looking down with much intenser and more curious interest.  She looked from me to her mate, and from her mate to me again with indecision that was no more reassuring than her low questioning growl.

I do not know why they did not spring on me.  Surely no two lions ever contemplated easier quarry.  No victim in the arena ever watched the weapons of death more helplessly.  I suppose my hour had not come.  Perhaps the lions, well used to white men who attacked on sight with long-range weapons, doubted the wisdom of experiments on something new.

The lioness growled again.  Her mate purred to her with an uprising reassuring note that satisfied her and sent my heart into my boots.  Then he turned, sprang down behind the hillock, and she followed.  The next I saw of them they were running away like dogs, jumping low bushes and heading for jungle on the near horizon faster than I had imagined lions could travel.