"Feerda again," he muttered. "She hangs around all the time, trying to listen to what we are saying. She couldn't have heard this, though. Now, girls, remember. When the food is about this evening, see how much you can get hold of. I know just where to find the guns and the horses. Let's separate now. The Professor and I will go on a beetle hunt."

They dispersed in various directions. It was not until late in the evening, when the Mongars had withdrawn a little to indulge in their customary orgy of crooning songs, that they were absolutely alone. Quest looked out of the tent in which they had been sitting and came back again.

"Well?"

Laura lifted her skirt and showed an unusual projection underneath.

"Lenora and I have pinned up our petticoats," she announced. "We've got plenty of food and a bottle of water."

Quest threw open the white Arab cloak which he had been wearing. He had three rifles strapped around him.

"The Professor's got the ammunition," he said, "and we've five horses tethered a hundred paces along the track we came by, just behind the second tree turning to the left. I want you all to go there now at once and take the rifles. There isn't a soul in the camp and you can carry them wrapped in this cloak. I'll join you in ten minutes."

"What about Craig?" the Professor enquired.

"I am seeing to him," Quest replied.

Lenora hesitated.

"Isn't it rather a risk?" she whispered fearfully.

Quest's face was suddenly stern.

"Craig is going back with us," he said. "I'll be careful, Lenora. Don't worry."

He strolled out of the tent and came back again.

"The coast's clear," he announced. "Off you go.... One moment," he added, "there are some papers in this little box of mine which one of you ought to take care of."

He bent hastily over the little wallet, which never left him. Suddenly a little exclamation broke from his lips. The Professor peered over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

Quest never said a word. From one of the s.p.a.ces of the wallet he drew out a small black box, removed the lid and held out the card. They read it together:

"Fools, all of you! The cunning of the ages defeats your puny efforts at every turn.

"THE HANDS!"

Even the Professor's lips blanched a little as he read. Quest, however, seemed suddenly furious. He tore the card and the box to pieces, flung them into a corner of the tent and drew a revolver from his pocket.

"This time," he exclaimed, "we are going to make an end of the Hands! Out you go now, girls. You can leave me to finish things up."

One by one they stole along the path. Quest came out and watched them disappear. Then he gripped his revolver firmly in his hand and turned towards Craig's tent. There was something in the breathless stillness of the place, at that moment, which seemed almost a presage of coming disaster. Without knowing exactly why, Quest's fingers tightened on the b.u.t.t of his weapon. Then, from the thick growth by the side of the clearing, he saw a dark shape steal out and vanish in the direction of Craig's tent. He came to a standstill, puzzled. There had been rumours of lions all day, but the Professor had 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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.

"It is impossible, Feerda," he said. "You do not understand. I cannot tell you everything. Sometimes I almost think that the best thing I could do would be to return with them to the countries you know nothing of."

"That's what you are going to do, any way," Quest declared, suddenly making his appearance. "Hands up!"

He covered Craig with his revolver, but his arm was scarcely extended before Feerda sprang at him like a little wild-cat. He gripped her with his left arm and held her away with difficulty.

"Craig," he continued, "you're coming with us. You know the way to Port Said and we want you--you know why. Untie that sash from your waist.

Quickly!"

Craig obeyed. He had the stupefied air of a man who has lost for the time his volition.

"Tie it to the tree," Quest ordered. "Leave room enough."

Craig did as he was told. Then he turned and held the loose ends up. Quest lowered his revolver for a moment as he pushed Feerda toward it. Craig, with a wonderful spring, reached his side and kicked the revolver away.

Before Quest could even stoop to recover it, he saw the glitter of the other's knife pressed against his chest.

"Listen," Craig declared. "I've made up my mind. I won't go back to America. I've had enough of being hunted all over the world. This time I think I'll rid myself of one of you, at any rate."

"Will you?"

The interruption was so unexpected that Craig lost his nerve. Through an opening in the trees, only a few feet away, Lenora had suddenly appeared.