with independent action. They gave a spasmodic jerk, and both
barrels, chancing to be levelled correctly, sent their charges full into
the tiger's face.

Small shot may tickle a tiger but it cannot kill. With a roar like
thunder the brute sprang on its audacious enemy. Fortunately Slagg made
an _in_voluntary step to the rear at the moment, and fell on his back,
so that the animal, half-blinded by shot and smoke, went over him, and
alighted almost at the feet of Flinn.

That worthy was equal to the occasion. At the sound of his friend's
double shot he had seized the large rifle and leaped forward in time to
meet the baffled tiger. Quick as light his practised hand discharged
the heavy bullet, which, passing over the animal's head, went into its
spine near the haunches, so that when it tried a second spring its hind
legs refused their office, and it rolled over fuming and struggling in
an agony of pain and rage.

Flinn ran a few paces backward so as to reload in comparative safety,
while Slagg followed his example, but in desperate haste. Before he had
half charged the first barrel, a second shot from the heavy rifle laid
the royal monster dead on the ground.

"Well done!" cried Flinn, seizing his friend's hand and wringing it.
"It's Nimrod you are, no less. I niver saw a purtier shot. An', faix,
it's not every man that kills a tiger his first day out."

"But I _didn't_ kill it," said Slagg modestly.

"Sure but ye drew first blood, me boy, so the tiger's yours, an' I wish
you joy. Come, we'll go home now an' git help to fetch the carcass.
Won't they open their two eyes aich of them whin they see it! Here, ye
black spalpeen, take the rifle an' give me the gun."

In a few minutes the fortunate hunters were wending their way rapidly
homeward, and that night the whole party, while enjoying their supper,
feasted their eyes on the magnificent form of the royal Bengal tiger as
it lay on the verandah, in front of the electricians' bungalow.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

BEGINS WITH A DISAPPOINTMENT, CONTINUES WITH A GREAT RECEPTION, AND ENDS
WITH A SERIES OF SURPRISES.

At the breakfast-table next morning a telegram was handed to Redpath.
There was nothing unusual in this. On the contrary, it seemed
peculiarly natural that telegrams should be frequent visitors at the
house of a telegraphist, but it was not so natural that Redpath should
first look at the missive with surprise, and then toss it across the
table