'' (The bait was an
extra.)
The rifle flashed out with a loud report, and the great tawny
beast sprang to one side and then rolled over in the stillness of
death. In a moment a crowd of excited natives had swarmed on
to the scene, and their shouting speedily carried the glad news
to the village, where a thumping of tom-toms took up the chorus
of triumph. And their triumph and rejoicing found a ready echo in
the heart of Mrs. Packletide; already that luncheon-party in Curzon
Street seemed immeasurably nearer.
It was Louisa Mebbin who drew attention to the fact that the
goat was in death-throes from a mortal bullet-wound, while no
trace of the rifle's deadly work could be found on the tiger. Evidently
the wrong animal had been hit, and the beast of prey had
succumbed to heart-failure, caused by the sudden report of the rifle,
accelerated by senile decay. Mrs. Packletide was pardonably annoyed
at the discovery; but, at any rate, she was the possessor of a
dead tiger, and the villagers, anxious for their thousand rupees,
gladly connived at the fiction that she had shot the beast. And
Miss Mebbin was a paid companion.
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