“Don’t deceive yourself, De Veber,” said the Doctor, “it is nothing else. “Not,” he added, “that there is any great danger of the beast attacking us. But”
The sentence remained uncompleted; or rather it was completed in a way which, to my dying day, I am not likely to forget.
A quick rush, a violent stirring of the thicket, followed by a yell which set us all trembling, and a huge, dark form leaped out upon the path before us, pausing not three yards from the spot where Philpot stood.
“Great God!” I heard Maurice exclaim, and I knew, rather than saw, that he grasped his rifle.
But I was as one paralyzed, I could see the flash of those awful eyes, could see the beast crouch for a spring, could hear its tail lash the ground and yet I never made a move.
Though wholly unarmed, poor Philpot stood his ground like a Trojan. A second of awful suspense followed.
I could hear the click of Maurice’s rifle. I wondered why he did not fire, when suddenly a light broke upon the scene, and to my utter amazement I saw a man leap from the thicket directly in front of the Doctor, and dash a flaming torch into the tiger’s face.
It was the work of an instant. The next and all danger had passed.
Bushes, the path, my companions, everything seemed swimming about me. I saw the great cat retreating into the jungle. I heard the Doctor shout, but until the man who had burst so unceremoniously into our midst, stooped and recovered the torch, I did not realize the full significance of the scene.
Then as the light struck upon his face I knew him. Seen in that weird glare the sight was even more marvellous now. It was a face black below, yellowish white above.
It was the mysterious Mr. Mirrikh to whom we were indebted. Calm and dignified he stood there as though nothing unusual had occurred.
