“Oh well, never mind,” said Shafto impatiently, “you take away the goat. Look sharp—take him quickly, quickly and _keep_ him.” This was an extraordinary _thakin_, who, at the very climax of the tiger hour, climbed out of the _machan_ and liberated the bait! Certainly these English folk were mad. “You go towards the camp,” he ordered, “and take my gun.” The Burman, still completely bewildered, obeyed; he could not understand the situation, but he felt bound to do what he was told, and presently he disappeared, moving with obvious reluctance, leading the goat and carrying gun and cartridges. His employer did not immediately follow, but remained for a considerable time motionless—listening. The pulsation had almost ceased—evidently the motor-boat had arrived at her destination, which was unfortunately not in his immediate vicinity. He crept stealthily along in the direction of the possible anchorage, fighting his way through roots and undergrowth; it was all of no use—a barrier of morass and elephant grass proved absolutely impassable, so he turned back towards his camp, pausing now and then to listen. He could make out voices—one in an authoritative key summoning “Mung Li.” Well, he had at least discovered something definite—he was in the vicinity of smugglers. In a short time he discovered something else; through a breach in the undergrowth he caught a glimpse of a Burman leading a stout, grey pony carrying a European saddle and—unless his eyes entirely deceived him—the animal was Krauss’s well-known weight carrier, “Dacoit.” Two evenings later, at the Gymkhana Club, Krauss lounged up to Shafto, who happened to be looking on at a billiard match. Taking a cigar out of his mouth he astonished him by saying: “Well, so you had no luck after that tiger down the river!” This was taking the bull by the horns indeed. “No,” replied Shafto, “but Stafford saw him and got a shot. He is there all right.” “Perhaps you will have another try?” suggested Krauss. “Perhaps so—but not for some time.” “Too much work, eh? Gregory is doing a big trade just now.” “Pretty well,” rejoined Shafto, who was secretly surprised that Krauss should accost and talk to him in this way. Hitherto their acquaintance had been slight and, when he had been to tea at “Heidelberg,” the master of the house was invariably absent. “How is Mrs. Krauss? I hope she is better.” “No, she has been pretty bad the last few weeks—her niece is coming home in a day or two and that will cheer her up.” As he concluded he gave Shafto a nod and a curious look and then, with a sort of elephantine waddle, lounged away.