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"Now, my dear Vice," was the slightly pained reply, "what decent tiger would eat Simple Villager while he could get venison? Would you yourself? . . . No, he never dreamt of interfering with them in any way. It was a beautiful example of lovely Nature's pretty way of keeping—what is it?—the Balance of Trade or the Survival of the Fattest or something—the Simple Villagers tilled the soil, the soil yielded crops, the crops attracted the deer, and the tiger lived on them. Seems as though the deer were 'Also Rans,' rather, don't it? Anyhow, that was the happy state of affairs in sweet Soni, loveliest village of the plain, when a Traveller came to the Travellers' Bungalow—and nearly spoilt the show. He was one of those wretched beasts who always want to put things right before they're wrong—what's called a Member of Parliament in scientific language. And even among Members of Parliament, he was the limit, the ultimate outside edge. Believe me, he was a Rooter. . . . And for what fell purpose do you suppose he had come to sweet Soni, auburnest village of the Plains? He had come to murder