"Almost opposite to Malanaad hamlet, sir, about a quarter of a mile off the road to the right, an English gentleman has lately commenced clearing the jungle to make a coffee plantation. He has built an iron house and iron lines for his coolies."
"That's good news, head man: I shall certainly go and stay the night with the gentleman rather than at the Malanaad bungalow—all by myself."
"But, sir," continued the villager, now speaking in an awed whisper, "a man-eating tiger that is supposed to have wandered up from the low country on the other side is haunting the plantation! The Malanaad hamlet is walled in; the people do not stir out after dark, so the tiger is preying on the gentleman's coolies, who are not so protected."
Danger, indeed! I had heard and read of man eaters, but had never encountered one. What if the demon happened to be lurking by the roadside as we passed? What if he should pop out on to us? What could I do? Nothing!
"Is the gentleman by himself?"
"No, sir; he has a son of about thirteen years, and a little daughter, much younger. I saw them all when they rested here on their way up."
"No lady?"
"No, sir; but there was an old ayah who attended on the little girl."
I felt sorry for the isolated Englishman, especially when I thought of his two children, leading a lonely life in a jungle, cut off from the society of those of their own color. Knowing how gladly they would welcome me, I should certainly have claimed the planter's hospitality for one night at least had not the villager's news about the tiger put me off the idea. No, I was not going to run any risk: I would go straight to the Malanaad bungalow.
After dismissing the head man, I summoned my trembling followers, heartened them as best I could, and added that we would start sufficiently early in the morning to insure our reaching Malanaad well before sundown.