he began to run--to run like a buck. And then, to their consternation,
they perceived that his legs were free. By some means or other he had
contrived, with a lunatic's stealthy cunning, to cut the _reim_ which
had secured them. They could see the severed ends flapping as he ran.

"Well, we've got to catch him, poor chap, so here goes," said Hoste,
starting with all his might in pursuit.

But the maniac wormed in and out of the bushes with marvellous rapidity.
Shelton had tripped and come a headlong cropper, and Hoste was becoming
blown, but they seemed to get no nearer. Suddenly the bush came to an
end. Beyond lay a gradual acclivity, open and grassy, ending abruptly
in air.

"Heavens!" cried Eustace in a tone of horror. "The _krantz_!"

His tones found an echo in those of his companions. The precipice in
front was a continuation of the lofty perpendicular cliff which fell
away from the front of their halting place. Any one who should go over
that giddy brink would leave no sort of shadow of uncertainty as to his
fate. They stopped in their pursuit.

"Tom!" cried Eustace persuasively, "Come back, old chap. It's going to
rain like fits in a minute. You'll be much snugger at the camp."

The lunatic, now half-way across the open, stopped at the voice and
stood listening. Then he ran forward again, but at a decreased pace.
Heavens! He was only twenty yards from the brink. His pursuers were
more than twice that distance behind. Any move forward would inevitably
have the effect of driving him over.

"What _are_ we to do?" gasped Hoste, exhausted by the mingled exertion
and excitement.

"We had better leave him alone, and watch him from where he can't see
us," was Eustace's reply.

The poor fellow had now gained the very brink. Then he turned, but his
pursuers had deftly concealed themselves behind a small bush which
opportunely grew in the midst of the open. His hands were still tied
fast, and the gag was in his mouth. If only they could have reached
him.

He stood for a moment, balanced on the edge of the abyss, looking _into
it_. Then he turned again. There was a horrible leer of triumphant
insanity upon the distorted face as his gaze failed to discover the
presence of anybody likely to prove hostile.

The thunder rolled out heavily from overhead, and the figure of the
maniac stood in bold relief against the leaden sky, photographed in
black relief against the red flashes of lightning whi