sat down in a hammock-chair in deep shadow and
proceeded to smoke his pipe.

From far away, in the direction of the jungle, there came the haunting
cry of a jackal, and a little nearer he heard the weird call of an owl.
But close at hand there was no sound. He lay in absolute stillness,
gazing along the verandah with eyes that looked into the future.

Minutes passed. His pipe went out, and his drink remained by his side
forgotten. He wandered in the depths of reverie....

Suddenly from the compound immediately below him there came a faint
rustle as of some living creature moving stealthily, and in a second Max
was back in the present. He sat up noiselessly and peered downwards.

The faint rustle continued. His thoughts flashed to the tiger he had
slain the day before at Khantali. Could this be another prowling in
search of food? He scarcely thought so, yet the possibility gave him a
sensation of bristling down the spine. He remained motionless in his
chair, however, alert, listening.

Softly the intruder drew near. He heard the tamarisk bushes part and
close again. But he heard no sound of feet. It was a cat-like advance,
slow and wary.

He wondered if the creature could see him there in the dark, wondered if
he were a fool to remain but decided to do so and take his chances. Max
Wyndham's belief in his own particular lucky star was profound.

Nearer and nearer drew the unseen one, came close to him, seemed to
pause,--and passed. Max was holding his breath. His hands were clenched.
He was strung for vigorous resistance.

But as he realized that the danger--if danger there had been--was over,
his muscles relaxed. A moment later with absolute noiselessness he rose
and leaned over the verandah-rail, intently watching.

Seconds passed thus and nothing happened. The rustling sound grew
fainter, faded imperceptibly at length into the stillness of the night.
Could it have been a jackal, Max asked himself?

He stood up and looked once more along the verandah. Nick's room was
just round the corner of the bungalow. The nocturnal visitor had gone in
that direction. With noiseless tread he followed.

He reached the corner. The soft glow of a night-lamp lay across the
verandah. The window was open. He paused a second, then strode softly up
and looked in.

A bamboo-screen was pulled across the room, hiding the bed. The lamp was
burning behind it. As Max stood at the window, a turbaned figure came
silently round the scr