"Behold, sahib!" And Mahadua pointed to the trunk of the rhododendron.
When Finnerty had closely examined some marks about the height of his head in the tree, he said: "Even if our friend Pundit Bagh hasn't an evil spirit, he has a sense of humour; he's sharpened his claws here, and not long ago, either."
"Really? Oh, I say, old top, you're spoofing. No end of a good draw, though." And Lord Victor chuckled.
"I'm in earnest," Finnerty declared crisply. "A rhododendron has a bark like rough sandpaper—it's a favourite whetstone for the cat tribe; and this was a big tiger, as you can judge by the height of the marks."
"There are no pugs on the path, sahib," Mahadua advised, after a search.
"We'll keep close together for a bit," Finnerty advised, starting on.
At Finnerty's elbow the shikari whispered: "Tell the sahibs to talk, so that we come not in a startling way upon the Pundit, that he may escape in peace."
The major conveyed this message to his companions.
For a hundred yards they walked through a jungle that was now silent save for their voices and the slip of their feet on the smooth earth. From a tangle of raspberry bushes ahead a king crow rose in excited flight.
"That's a bird that always gets in a rage when tiger is about," Finnerty explained; "so keep your eye open—the jungle's thick here."