“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 spaces 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 butt 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 amusement, were breaking into the undergrowth in chase.  Quest came to a standstill.  It was from Craig’s tent that the beast had issued!