It seems funny to me, and I suppose to you,
because we're so fond of all kinds of animals; but I don't really see
why it should be any more extraordinary to have an antipathy for dogs
than for cats, and no one thinks anything of it if you dislike cats." "That is so," I said thoughtfully. "Anyway," she went on, "it is not our own fault if a certain animal does
not instinctively take to us." "Of course not," I replied stoutly. "You're surely not worrying about
it, are you?" She hastened to assure me that she was not, but I could see that my
indorsing her opinion was a great relief to her. She had been afraid
that I should think it unnatural. I did for that matter, but I could
not, of course, tell her so. That night Sir Alister and I sat up late talking after the other men had
retired. We had got on the subject of India and had been comparing notes
as to our different adventures. From this we went on to discussing
perilous situations and escapes, and it was then that he narrated to me
a very curious incident. "It happened when I was only twenty-one," he said, "the year after my
father died. I think I told you that as soon as ever I became my own
master, I packed up and was off to the East. I had a friend with me, a
boy who had been my best pal at school. They used to call us 'Black and
White.' He was fair and girlish-looking, and his name was Buchanan. He
was just as keen on India as I was, and purposed writing a book
afterwards on our experiences. "Our intention was to explore the wildest, most savage districts, and as
a start we selected the province of Orissa. The forests there are
wonderful, and it is there, if anywhere, that the almost extinct Indian
lion is still to be found. We engaged two sturdy hillmen to accompany us
and pushed our way downwards from Calcutta over mountains, rivers and
through some of the densest jungles I've ever traversed. It was on the
outskirts of one of the latter that the tragedy took place. We had
pitched our tents one evening after a long, tiring day, and turned in
early to sleep, Buchanan and I in one, and the two Bhils in the other." Sir Alister paused for a few moments, toying with his cigar in an
abstracted manner, then continued in the same clear, even voice:

"When I awoke next morning, I found my friend lying beside me dead, and
blood all round us! His throat was torn open by the teeth of some wild
beast, his breast was horribly mauled and lacerated, and his eyes were
wide, staring open, and their expression was awful. He must have died a
hideous death and known it!" Again he stopped, but I made no comment, only waited with breathless
interest till he went on. "I called the two men. They came and looked, and for the first time I
saw terror written on their faces. Their nostrils quivered as though
scenting something; then 'Tiger!' they gasped simultaneously. "One of them said he had heard a stifled scream in the night, but had
thought it merely some animal in the jungle. The whole thing was a
mystery. How I came to sleep undisturbed through it all, how I escaped
the same fate, and why the tiger did not carry off his prey----"

"You are sure it was a tiger?" I put in. "I think there was no doubt of it," Sir Alister replied. "The Bhils
swore the teeth-marks were unmistakable, and not only that, but I saw
another case seven years later. The body of a young woman was found in
the compound outside my bungalow, done to death in precisely the same
way. And several of the natives testified as to there being a tiger in
that vicinity, for they had found three or four young goats destroyed in
similar fashion." "Who was the girl?" I asked. Moeran slowly turned his lucent, amber eyes upon me as he answered. "She
was a German, a sort of nursery governess at the English doctor's. He
was naturally frightfully upset about it, and a regular panic sprang up
in the neighbourhood. The natives got a superstitious scare--thought
one of their gods was wroth about something and demanded sacrifice; but
the white people were simply out to kill the tiger." "And did they?" I queried eagerly. Sir Alister shook his head. "That I can't say, as I left the place very
soon afterwards and went up to the mountains." A long silence followed, during which I stared at him in mute
fascination. Then an unaccountable impulse made me say abruptly:
"Moeran, how old are you?" His finely-marked eyebrows went up in surprise at the irrelevance of my
question, but he smiled. "Funny you should ask! It so happens that it's my birthday to-morrow. I
shall be thirty-five." "Thirty-five!" I repeated. Then with a shiver I rose from my seat. The
room seemed to have turned suddenly cold. "Come," I said, "let's go to bed." *       *       *       *       *

Next night at dinner I proposed Sir Alister's health, and we all drank
to him and his "bride-to-be." They had that day definitely settled the
date of their marriage for two months ahead; Ethne was looking radiant
and everyone seemed in the best of spirits. We danced and romped and played rowdy games like a pack of children. Nothing was too silly for us to attempt. While a one-step was in full
swing some would-be wag suddenly turned off all the lights. It was then
that for a moment I caught sight of a pair of glowing, fiery eyes
shining through the darkness. Instantly my thoughts flew back to that
meeting at the station, when I had fancied that Ethne had her dog in her
arms. A chill, sinister feeling crept over me, but I kept my gaze fixed
steadily in the same direction. The next minute the lights went up, and
I found myself staring straight at Sir Alister Moeran. His arm was round
Ethne's waist and she was smiling up into his face. Almost immediately
they took up the dance again, and I and my partner followed suit. But
all my gaiety had departed. An indefinable oppression seized me and
clung to me for the rest of the evening. As I emerged from my room next morning I saw old Giles, the butler,
hurrying down the corridor towards me. "Oh, Mr. Maurice--Captain Kilvert, sir!" he burst out, consternation in
every line of his usually stolid countenance. "A dreadful thing has
happened! How it's come about I can't for the life of me say, and how
we're going to tell the General, the Lord only knows!" "What?" I asked, seizing him by the arm. "What is it?" "The dawg, sir," he answered in a hoarse whisper, "Mike--in the
study----"

I waited to hear no more, but strode off down the stairs, Giles hobbling
beside me as fast as he could, and together we entered the study. In the middle of the floor lay the body of Mike. A horrible foreboding
gripped me, and I quickly knelt down and raised the dog's head. His neck
was torn open, bitten right through to the windpipe, the blood still
dripping from it into a dark pool on the carpet. A cold, numbing sensation stole down my spine and made my legs grow
suddenly weak. Beads of perspiration gathered on my forehead as I
slowly rose to my feet and faced Giles. "What's the meaning of it, sir?"