"I've shot the tiger between the eyes," he said, "and effectually." We were rather relieved, and after some instructions as to his somewhat severe wound, finding we could be of no service, we prepared to go to bed, when our hostess suddenly turned up in rather a melodramatic looking boudoir gown, her hair dishevelled, and her face white as death. We went up to her (as she paused in the doorway, with her hand on her heart, she appeared to be suffering), and told her, thinking to reassure her, that the tiger had been shot by the gardener while mauling his son. When she realized the significance of our words, she gave way to a frenzy of anger. "What! You don't mean to say that horrible man has shot the dear tiger that Sir Henry paid so much for! If he knew, he would no longer keep him in his service--I shall dismiss him at once!" And with a final burst of anger, she departed in a fit of hysterics. When Lady Meux had gone, my friend, who was awfully upset, broke into anger. "What a heartless woman!" he said. "Why, the poor chap ought to be well rewarded for his pluck, instead of which he will be dismissed. What a damned shame!" At that moment the footman entered again. "Perhaps you'd like to know, sir," he announced, "the boy is still alive, and not so seriously hurt as we first thought." We were somewhat relieved by this news, and as the lights were out we could not see to play billiards any longer, so we managed to grope round and find some little refreshment and go to bed. The next morning, as I was dressing I heard a voice outside calling my name. Looking into the garden, I saw my friend, whose normal ruddy colour had changed to a most deathly white. "What's the matter?" I cried. In a hoarse voice he besought me to come down, which I did. Taking me to the managerie, he showed me the general scene of destruction; bushes had been trampled down, some torn up by the roots, and everywhere the signs of a great struggle met the eye. As we walked, he told me how, going to the tiger's cage, he had looked for the body. Seeing nothing but the broken bars, he looked into the sleeping compartment where a live tiger had sprung at his face, which he had withdrawn in the very nick of time. We were very puzzled by the fact that the animal was alive and apparently unharmed, and as we paced up and down by the cage, we tried to account for the tiger's reappearance in the sleeping compartment. A reporter appeared a little later on behalf of the local paper, but was ordered off the premises rather peremptorily. As we walked, a groom accosted us, who informed us that he was not one of the regular servants, but an odd man from Newmarket. "I don't 'arf like it," he began. "What do you mean?" replied my friend. "T'aint all right, you bet," he said, with a wink.