been incredulous. The nature of the
country, he thought, scarcely favoured the probability of their presence.
Then the still, heavy air was suddenly rent by a wild scream of horror.
Across the narrow opening the creature had reappeared, carrying something
in its mouth, something which gave vent all the time to the most awful
yells. Quest fired his revolver on chance and broke into a run. Already
the Mongars, disturbed in their evening amusement, were breaking into the
undergrowth in chase. Quest came to a standstill. It was from Craig's tent
that the beast had issued!

He turned slowly around. If Craig had indeed paid for his crimes by so
horrible a death, there was all the more reason why they should make their
escape in the general confusion, and make it quickly. He retraced his
steps. The sound of shouting voices grew less and less distinct. When he
reached the meeting place, he found the Professor standing at the corner
with the rest. His face showed signs of the most lively curiosity.

"From the commotion," he announced, "I believe that, after all, a lion has
visited the camp. The cries which we have heard were distinctly the cries
of a native."

Quest shook his head.

"A lion's been here all right," he said, "and he has finished our little
job for us. That was Craig. I saw him come out of Craig's tent."

The Professor was dubious.

"My friend," he said, "you are mistaken. There is nothing more
characteristic and distinct than the Mongar cry of fear. They seldom use
it except in the face of death. That was the cry of a native Mongar. As
for Craig, well, you see that tree that looks like a dwarfed aloe?"

Quest nodded.

"What about it?"

"Craig was lying there ten minutes ago. He sprang up when he heard the
yells from the encampment, but I believe he is there now."

"Got the horses all right?" Quest enquired.

"Everything is waiting," the Professor replied.

"I'll have one more try, then," Quest declared.

He made his way slowly through the undergrowth to the spot which the
Professor had indicated. Close to the trunk of a tree Craig was standing.
Feerda was on her knees before him. She was speaking to him in broken
English.

"Dear master, you shall listen to your slave. These people are your
enemies. It would be all over in a few minutes. You have but to say the
word. My father is eager for it. No one would ever know."

Craig patted her head. His tone was filled with the deepest despondency.

"I