It was General Zaroff. He made his way along with his eyes fixed
in utmost concentration on the ground before him. He paused, almost
beneath the tree, dropped to his knees and studied the ground.
Rainsford's impulse was to hurl himself down like a panther, but he
saw that the general's right hand held something metallic—a small
automatic pistol.
The hunter shook his head several times, as if he were puzzled.
Then he straightened up and took from his case one of his black
cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smoke floated up to Rainsford's
nostrils.
Rainsford held his breath. The general's eyes had left the
ground and were traveling inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze
there, every muscle tensed for a spring. But the sharp eyes of the
hunter stopped before they reached the
