"Watch for the strike of my bullet, Ray," he said.

He threw himself at full length on the ground and pressed a cartridge
into the breech of his rifle. His companions stood over him as he cast a
hurried glance forward and adjusted his sight, muttering:

"Just about four hundred yards."

The crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; and even at that distance
he could see the scaly armour covering head, back and sides, that would
defy any bullet. The unprotected spot behind the shoulder was hidden
from him; the only vulnerable part was the neck. Wargrave laid his cheek
to the butt and sighted on this.

The crocodile crept on inch by inch, dragging its limbs forward with the
slow, stealthy movement of its kind when stalking their prey on land.
The horrified watchers saw that the terrible snout with its protruding
fangs was barely a yard from Mrs. Norton's feet. Raymond's hands holding
the glasses to his eyes trembled violently. The Resident shook as with
the palsy; and he stared in horror at the crawling death that threatened
the sleeping woman.

Wargrave fired.

As the rifle rang out the creeping movement ceased.

"You've hit him, I'll swear," cried Raymond. "I didn't see the bullet
strike the ground."