“But it isn’t a man. It’s a Devil, and a leopard.”
“A leopard?”
“A leopard, but a Devil.”
“Shoot it.”
“But it’s a Devil.”
“Shoot it, all the same.”
“But it’s a Devil, and so the rifles won’t go off.”
[154] ]Instead of all which, to tell the downright truth, instead of any invention, I looked in silence awhile at my excited clerk as he repeated, half mechanically, “The Devil has come to town,” and guessing that perhaps a tiger, which had been flurrying the place for some weeks, had paid a mid-day visit, I stepped outside to the verandah to see what the matter was, probably telling somebody to go for a rifle. I looked in all directions, but saw no stampeding, such as might be expected if a tiger were strolling anywhere near. There were many marks of general consternation. Everybody seemed to have stopped suddenly whatever he had been doing. The one detail capricious memory supplies is the sight of a man at a refreshment-stall, who had paused with a spoonful of food half-way to his lips, and stood as if petrified as long as I saw him, gaping and listening. Next I noticed the District Superintendent of Police, Mr W. G. Snadden, a sensible, first-rate man, coming from his office, which was in a building adjacent to mine. Without waiting to be asked, he shouted to me, “Don’t you bother. It’s only a leopard frightening people at my house, and I’ll go and see what the row is and come and let you know.”
“Anybody hurt?”
[155] ]“I believe not.”