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THEY sighted Lone Tree Island at dawn on the second day, and as they drew nearer Blackett searched the shore anxiously with his glasses. It was the northern end they were approaching, and his memory of the place was a little rusty. The beach which lay at the foot of the hill was guarded by a reef of rocks, and the line of surf looked unbroken. But somewhere there was a gap, and it was for that he was making. They had decided that it would be fatal to use the southern anchorage: they would see quite enough of the opposition without lying alongside them. And from what he remembered the gap was wide enough to let their boat through but would prove impossible for the yacht.

At last they saw it, and Jim looked at him doubtfully. It was about ten yards across, and at each edge the swell broke lazily on vicious black rocks. Beyond it, some two hundred yards away, was the shore, and the intervening water was as calm as a lake. An ideal harbour; anything but an ideal entrance.

They nosed in closer going dead slow, and the nearer they got the nastier it looked. Blackett was at the wheel: Jim was up in the bows peering into the water ahead.

"If we bump, go all out, Percy," he said. "We'll have to beach her."

And to this day Bill Blackett swears the boat must have had an indiarubber bottom.

"She bounced twice and then skidded," he affirms, "but she got through."

After which the crew had breakfast, and discussed the plan of campaign.

"We can presumably rely on having to-day undisturbed," said Jim. "And there is a possibility of to-morrow also. They can't arrive until to-night, and they won't know until it's light that they've got a useless map. Then they've got to find us. So that if we're away from here by dawn to-morrow we may get an extra twelve hours. But that is the absolute maximum. Wherefore, chaps, we've got to get a move on."

And so, a quarter of an hour later they rowed ashore in the dinghy leaving the Brazilian to amuse himself on board. Each of them carried a revolver and a heavy stick, and Jim had a rucksack strapped on his shoulders, in which was the food for lunch. And having beached the dinghy they started the climb.

The northern side of the hill was practically bare of any vegetation. For the first two or three hundred feet a few stunted shrubs grew sparsely: above that a thin brown weed, which might by courtesy have been called grass, stretched up to the summit. The slope was steep, but easy, and since the sun as yet had but little heat they made the top without difficulty.

"Seems rum to be back here after all these years," said the sailor. "If anyone had offered me a hundred pounds to sixpence against it I wouldn't have taken it."

Below them lay the swampy half of the island. A thick mist covered it eddying sluggishly into the giant trees which came down to the edge of the marsh land and there stopped abruptly. A faint southerly breeze was blowing, and it carried to their nostrils that strange unmistakable scent of rotting vegetation which sends the man who knows to his medicine-chest for quinine twice daily. Fever—the place stank of it, as Bill Blackett had said in London.

Surrounding the swamp on three sides was higher ground: on the fourth lay the sea. Their own vantage point was the highest in the island, rising from the low foothills that formed the northern end. And due west, some two miles away there stood the Lone Tree. It seemed to have escaped from the forest which comprised the western half, and to be standing like a solitary sentinel in front of an army that had halted a few hundred yards away. And Jim, as he looked at that dense jungle, felt his heart sink. He alone of the party knew from past experience the difficulties of cutting a path through undergrowth of that sort, and keeping any sort of direction. However he said nothing and produced his compass.

"We'll take a bearing due south-west from here," he explained, "and see if it passes through any conspicuous spot which we can remember when we get to the Lone Tree. Then when we get the line between C and A from there, we may get an approximate position."

He let the compass settle, and then prolonged the line by laying his stick on the ground.

"It's pointing straight at that huge mass of scarlet flowers," cried Judy.

"Come on," he said abruptly. "Let's get to the Lone Tree."

The mist was slowly clearing from the swamp, showing glimpses of vivid green interspersed with dull brown ground.

"Lord! what a death trap," he exclaimed involuntarily, and at that moment Bill Blackett clutched his arm.

"Look," he muttered, "at that bit of green half-left of you."

He was staring through his glasses, and Jim focussed his own. The mist was still swirling in thin wisps over the marsh, but it suddenly lifted for a few seconds from the spot which the sailor had pointed to. And, quite distinctly, he saw something heaving and struggling in the green slime. Then all was still: whatever it was had gone under. But still he kept his glasses fixed. What was that moving on the brown ground which flanked the green? There were two, three, half a dozen.... And then the mist came down again, blotting out everything.

"Is that what happened to the crew of the Paquinetta?" said Blackett sombrely. "Anyway, what was it, Mr. Maitland?"

Jim glanced at him quickly: evidently he had not seen the others.

"Some animal caught in the bog," he said shortly. "It often happens, even on Dartmoor, or in the New Forest. Let's get a move on."

But half-way to the Lone Tree he paused and adjusted his glasses once again. The mist had completely gone: the swamp lay open below them. But though he scanned it from end to end no living thing stirred. Only the faint reek of it rose poisonous to heaven.

It was getting hot when they reached the Lone Tree, and a haze was already shimmering over the forest. But it was not enough to prevent them picking up the cairn of stones on the high ground at the south of the island. And having done so for a moment or two they all stood silent staring at one another. For the line to the cairn passed directly through the centre of the great patch of scarlet flowers they had picked up from the hill.

"Why we've only got to walk till we find it," cried Judy, "and we've got the spot."

"Not quite so easy as it sounds, Judy," said Jim. "In the first place we've got to keep our direction going through the undergrowth, when we shan't be able to see the flowers; and in the second place the flowers look very different when looked at from where we are now, to what they will when we're standing underneath them. What's up, Bill?"

The sailor drew him on one side.

"For God's sake, Mr. Maitland," he said in a low voice, "chuck it. It's not worth it. Those flowers never grew there naturally: why, there's not another patch that you can see. They have been planted, I tell you—planted as an ornament, as a decoration."

"Decoration! For what?"

"For what is underneath them. There, in the forest."

"You're talking rot, Bill," said Jim curtly, though the strangeness of that one flaming splash of colour had not escaped him. And yet the thing was absurd: the sailor was a superstitious ass. The flower looked like the ordinary scarlet hibiscus, as common in the tropics as the daisy is at home. It was just coincidence, and lucky coincidence that this great square of them should mark the spot they wanted. So he argued to himself, cursing Bill mentally for having made such an argument necessary.

He took the compass bearing on the cairn of stones, and found it was south-south-west: then he gave the order to march.

"I'll lead," he said. "Then Judy after me. Bill—you bring up the rear. And watch for snakes every step you take."

He calculated that the distance was about three miles, and it soon became obvious that they would never do it that day. The heat once they left the open became well-nigh unbearable: the undergrowth in places seemed like a solid wall. Huge lianas—the size of a ship's cable—hung in great festoons from the trees; rank weeds and tropical ferns with tendrils the size of a man's arm blocked the way, and had to be slashed at with knives to afford a passage. In places they were almost in darkness, so thick was the foliage above: then they would stumble into a patch of sunlight where gorgeous humming birds flitted like exquisite coloured jewels above their heads.

The sweat poured off them, and at the end of an hour Jim made out that they had blazed a trail for about half a mile. But the exertion had been terrific, and the girl, though she made no complaint, was obviously exhausted. Moreover the going was becoming worse as they got deeper in, and reluctantly he called a halt.

"We must take a breather," he said, "or we'll all be cooked. Anyway, Bill," he added with a laugh, "your boy friends you told us about in London haven't used this route."

But there was no answering smile on the sailor's face.

"Maybe not, Mr. Maitland, but that isn't to say they're not here."

"You're a darned old optimist, aren't you?" said Jim, lighting a cigarette. "But if they are, I wish we could rope 'em in to do a job of work."

For half an hour they sat there in the steamy heat. Save for the hum of a myriad insects the silence was complete. Once in the distance they heard the raucous screech of a parrot, but, save for that, everything was still. And then quite suddenly there came a sound which brought them all to their feet listening intently.

It seemed to come from a long way off, and yet, though faint, it was quite distinct. Clang: clang: clang: it went on monotonously for more than a minute. Then it ceased, and silence settled on them once again.

"It sounded like a bell," said Jim.

"Like a ship's bell," agreed Blackett gravely. "I forget if I told you that the Paquinetta's bell was missing."

"Look here, old sailor," put in Percy, "you're enough to give one the woodle-ums, you know. This darned wood ain't my idea of fun and laughter at the best of times, without having the ghost of a bell chucked in."

Jim was staring thoughtfully in front of him. There was no possibility of a mistake: they had all heard it. Whether it was the Paquinetta's bell or not was immaterial: the vital fact remained that some bell had sounded. Who had rung it? It had pealed methodically, at fixed intervals of time. What agency had been at work?

He began to pace up and down the little clearing. What were those things he had seen in the swamp that morning? Could it be possible that there was something in Blackett's fantastic theory? And if so—what about Judy? He and the two men could take their chance, but the bare idea of the girl falling into the hands of some primitive race of savages made him shudder to contemplate.

There was another point too, which had to be taken into consideration. In this dense forest they were at a terrible disadvantage. The value of a revolver was reduced to nothing, if the target was invisible. At any moment they might be surrounded by things that knew their way about the undergrowth, and though they might account for a few of them the risk was too great while Judy was with them. There was nothing else for it: they must go back. And the fact that, in any event, at their present rate of progress they could not hope to reach their objective that day, afforded Jim an admirable excuse without mentioning his fears.

"We've got to think of some other way of doing this job," he remarked at length. "This is impracticable, especially in this heat. Let's go back to the boat and have a pow-wow."

"But what other way can there be, Jim?" cried the girl.

"That's what we've got to talk over," he said. "But this is no go, Judy. About turn, Bill: you lead the way."

They halted for a time at the top of the hill to get the benefit of the faint breeze that was blowing, and to search the island more thoroughly with glasses. But nothing moved, save the shimmering heat haze which lay like a blanket over the whole place. At last they descended to the beach and pulled out in the dinghy to the boat.

"Think of an iced Pilsener," said Percy, "pouring gently down your throat with two more on the table to follow."

"I hope that ass Lopez has remembered to keep the drinking water in the sea," remarked Jim. "And where is the blighter, anyway."

They tied up the dinghy and climbed on board: the deck was deserted.

"Lopez!" he called: there was no answer.

"Probably asleep," said Percy. "Iced Pilsener," he repeated dreamily: "in long, long glasses. Lovely light yellow beer. And instead of that—tepid water in enamel mugs. Who would be an explorer? James, you would appear to be perturbed. What ails your manly spirit?"

"Lopez is not in the boat," said Jim quietly.

"He's probably gone a little ta-ta ashore," said his cousin. "Got tired of playing alone here, and thought he'd be an explorer too."

"How did he get ashore?" remarked Jim even more quietly.

"In the dinghy," said his cousin, and then paused abruptly. "By Jove! old lad, your meaning penetrates the grey matter. We left the dinghy ashore."

"Exactly," said Jim.

"Are you perfectly certain he's not on board?" cried the girl.

"Perfectly. Bill and I have looked everywhere."

"He must have swum," said Percy.

"He can't swim," answered Jim.

"He said he couldn't, Mr. Maitland," said the sailor. "Maybe he lied. Maybe he didn't relish the thought of meeting his pals at Rio just after he'd let 'em down."

"That's true, Bill," said Jim thoughtfully. "But what about his clothes?"

"In the absence of all our lady passengers he probably dispensed with them," answered Percy.

"I can't say I saw many signs of a naked man rushing wildly about the hillside," said Jim, "but perhaps you're right."

"Well, dash it all, old boy," remarked his cousin, "the blighter can't have jumped two hundred yards, and since, so far as I know, he didn't possess wings he bally well must have swum if he's not here. And personally I'm going to get into my little paddling drawers and do the same. Come on, Judy: let us brave the octopi together."

"You're worried, Jim," said the girl quietly.

"Not a bit, bless you," he cried. "Probably Percy is right. You go and hit the water and I'll join you in a few minutes. Then we'll decide on a plan of campaign."

He watched them go below: then he lit a cigarette thoughtfully. And he had barely taken a puff when Bill Blackett who had gone aft called him.

"What is it, Bill?" he said, joining him.

In silence the sailor pointed to the little sink where the washing up was done. In it lay the fragments of half a dozen broken plates which had been dropped in a pile.

"Well!" said Jim. "What about it?"

"What made him drop them, Mr. Maitland?" remarked the sailor gravely.

"Ask me another, Bill," answered Jim. "Such things have been known to happen before."

"Aye! that's true, and I'm not saying it may not have been an accident." He was stuffing his pipe from a weather-beaten pouch, and Jim waited. "Mr. Maitland," went on the sailor, "clothes or no clothes, the dago was not on shore or we should have seen him from the top of the hill."

"He may have been in the forest, like us," said Jim.

"In the forest," snorted the other. "Not he! I can sling enough of his lingo to have talked with him once or twice. And the Hounds of Hell would not have even got him ashore here, much less into the forest. He was scared stiff of the place."

"Then where the devil is he?" demanded Jim, and Blackett pointed downwards with his thumb.

"Drowned," he said tersely. "That was no accident—the smashing of those plates. He dropped them because he was frightened to death. Something came round the corner of the cuddy, Mr. Maitland, that drove him mad with terror—so mad that it didn't matter whether he could swim or whether he couldn't. He sprang overboard sooner than face it."

Jim stared at the sailor thoughtfully: was it possible he had hit on the right solution? He agreed with him—though he had appeared to differ—that the Brazilian would not have gone ashore of his own free will. And if he had remained in the boat something of the sort must have happened. But what manner of thing could it have been that drove a non-swimmer so crazy with fear that he jumped overboard to certain death by drowning?

The dinghy had not been moved: they had found it in exactly the same spot as they had left it. Therefore this thing must have swum to the boat. And suddenly he noticed a damp patch on the deck just in front of him, which might have been caused by wet feet. Outside the sun would have removed all traces, but this was in the shade. And he pictured to himself the wretched Lopez turning round as a shadow fell on him: the plates falling from his nerveless hands, his scream of fear as he dashed away from the thing that had entered. And then the splash as he hurled himself overboard. Or maybe he had been thrown.

"Well, my dear Watson, I trust you have solved the trifling problem of the Missing Brazilian," remarked Holmes, injecting cocaine into his left ankle.

Percy had joined them in his bathing kit.

"He seems to have been a bit prodigal with the crockery," he went on as he saw the broken plates.

"Look here, Percy," said Jim, "Bill has got a theory. And, 'pon my soul, I'm not certain he isn't right."

"We are prepared to listen," remarked Holmes courteously, injecting cocaine into the right ankle. "But I pray you—be brief. I would fain bathe."

He seated himself on the table and lit a cigarette, while Jim told him the sailor's idea.

"And as I said before," he concluded, "I'm not certain he isn't right."

"Well," said his cousin, who had become serious as he listened, "granted for the moment that he is, what do we do next?"

"If you take my advice, gentlemen," remarked the sailor gravely, "you'll up anchor and leave at once. You know the other name for the island, don't you? I forget the native words, but translated it means the island of no return."

"Seems a bit fatuous to come all this way, and then go all the way back again just because a dago disappears," said Percy.

"It's not because he disappeared," said the sailor stubbornly, "it's because of what made him disappear."

"Steady on, Bill," put in Jim. "We mustn't fall into the error of taking your theory as a proven fact, you know. There are at least two others which would account for things. He might have lied when he said he couldn't swim, and in spite of our not seeing him, he may be on shore now. Or he might suddenly have been taken ill, dropped the plates, rushed to the side and fallen overboard."

"Come on, you lazy blighters: it's glorious in the water."

Judy's voice hailed them from outside.

"Avaunt, child," answered Percy. "A council of state is in session."

"Not a word to her, Percy," muttered Jim, "of this idea of Bill's," and his cousin nodded.

"Naturally not," he said, as the girl poked her head round the corner.

"What are you sitting in this frowsty hole for?" she demanded.

"We'll be along in a minute," said Jim. "We're just having a bit of a pow-wow. Now look here, you fellows," he continued as she disappeared, "I figure it out this way. Let us assume for the moment that you're correct, Bill. Let us assume that something made its way on board that was so terrifying to Lopez that he shot overboard. Now he was unarmed: moreover he was down here. So he was taken by surprise. But we know this something that we are assuming came on board, must have swum. Even if it had come in the dinghy it had to cover two hundred yards of open water. What chance then would it have had if there had been a look-out on deck with a rifle?"

"Not an earthly," agreed Percy, and Bill grunted assent.

"Now two facts stick out a yard," continued Jim. "The first is that under no conceivable circumstances must we run the slightest risk of Judy being put in the same position as Lopez."

He paused and a faint smile came to his lips.

"And the second?" demanded the sailor.

"The second, Bill, is that I am of an inordinately curious disposition. I just wouldn't sleep o' nights for the rest of my life if I didn't find out who rang that bell and why: what lies under the patch of scarlet hibiscus: and a lot of other things."

"You're mad and foolhardy, Mr. Maitland," said the sailor. "How do you propose to do it?"

"Go and have a look," answered Jim with a grin, "leaving you, Bill, armed with the express rifle on guard over Miss Draycott here. Percy can please himself. He can either stop here with you, or he can come with me."

"It's madness," said the sailor once again. "Utter madness."

"Can't help it, old lad: I've always been mad. Well, Percy, what about you? For the shore after lunch, or not?"

"You bet your life I'm for the shore," said his cousin. "But what exactly are you intending to do? Carry on from where we left off this morning?"

Jim shook his head.

"No," he answered. "We started off on a false trail there. I propose that we wander along the edge of the swamp, and see if we can't find some track that will lead us into the forest without the necessity of hacking our way through the undergrowth. We may fail: if so we can only return."

"And you'll be back before dark," said the sailor.

"That's the idea, Bill," agreed Jim.

"And supposing you're not," continued the other.

"Why then, Bill, we'll be back after dark," laughed Jim. "Cheer up, you old croaker: Percy will be there to look after me."

The sailor shrugged his shoulders.

"All right, Mr. Maitland. You're the captain of this outfit, and what you say goes. But I still think you're a damned fool who is asking for trouble. And if you get it don't blame me."

With which Parthian shot he stumped off to his cabin.

"I say, Jim, do you really think there is anything in his idea?" said Percy.

"That, old lad, is what we propose to find out," answered his cousin. "And in the meantime let's join Judy in the water."

Jim had chosen the edge of the swamp as the line of advance for two reasons. Firstly, it struck him that by sticking to the brown tracks which flanked the green patches they would get good going in the open: and secondly he hoped that if there were any paths leading into the forest they would find some of them there. He had not forgotten the things he had seen through the mist that morning, and he argued that they would probably have had some line of approach, since the only place they could have disappeared into was the forest itself.

At the same time he fully realised that if there were tracks, and Percy and he used them, their chances of an encounter would be much greater than if they tried to again force a way through the undergrowth. And he was under no delusions as to the possibility of danger. They would be tackling them on their own ground, and under the most unfavourable conditions, especially as Percy, though he had practised assiduously on the way out was still a positive menace with a revolver.

What he wanted to do if it proved feasible was to see one of them without being seen himself. Then they could arrive at a decision as to whether they would carry on or not.

"You see, old lad," he remarked to Percy, as they beached the dinghy and proceeded once more to climb the hill, "we know the forest is inhabited, possibly by the most harmless creatures in the world, possibly not. And in the latter event, treasure or no treasure, we hop it. There aren't enough of us for Judy to be safe. But if they're harmless it's a different matter altogether."

Away to the north a smudge of smoke lay low on the horizon, but the island itself seemed lifeless in the intense heat. They scanned the open ground, searching for Lopez: there was no sign of him. Nothing moved, nothing stirred: the only sound was the lazy beat of the surf. And with a final glance backwards at the motor-boat, and Bill sitting grimly in a deck chair with his rifle across his knees they began the descent to the swamp.

It was two o'clock which gave them a good four hours in which to explore and be clear of the forest before it was dark. What Jim had surmised proved correct: there was a fringe of firm soil skirting the edge of the undergrowth which gave them easy walking. In places it was several yards wide, in others only a few inches, and lapping it on the other side, save where branches of it forked out and meandered across the marsh, lay the deadly green slime.

They pushed on steadily but cautiously, and it soon became obvious to Jim that the track was often used. There were places where the vegetation had been deliberately forced back to give greater width. And it was in one such place that they came on their first clue. Up till then the ground had been as hard as a rock: here they suddenly came on a stretch of some ten yards where a stream oozed sluggishly over the path. It had practically dried up, leaving the soil soft and muddy, and for a while Jim stared at it, with his face growing more and more grave.

"Look at the footprints, Percy," he said at length. "Poor devil."

His cousin looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean by 'poor devil'?" he asked.

But Jim did not reply: he was down on his knees studying the ground more closely. The marks were perfectly clear cut, and had obviously been made very recently. They were of two distinct sorts, and he examined them both in turn.

The first were those of a naked human foot. The imprints of the five toes were deep, and very wide apart: the mark of the heel was even deeper showing the great weight of its owner. But it was the size and the length of stride that staggered him. His own feet were not small, but he could comfortably have got both of them inside one of these. And the distance between them was over five feet.

The second were very different. They had been made by the toe of a pointed shoe, and the distance between them was four feet.

"So Bill was on the right track after all," he said straightening up. "Poor devil!"

"Look here," remarked Percy, "you might remember that I am not as well versed in reading mud as you. I assume you are alluding to Lopez, but you might explain your sympathy."

"You spot, don't you," said Jim, "that that is made by the toe of a shoe." He pointed to a second trail. "You can see the alternate feet—right and left. You remember also the very pointed shoes he used to wear. So the betting is a hundred to one that that trail was made by him. Now how did he make it? How would you make a mark like that with your shoe?"

"By standing on tip-toe," said his cousin.

"And then hopping four feet like a ballet dancer!" Jim laughed shortly. "No, my lad, you can take it from me that those marks were not made by him trying to imitate Pavlova. He was a short man, and look at the length of his stride. He was running for his life, pursued by the thing that made those other marks."

"How do you know he was being pursued?"

"Because in two places the thing has obliterated his footprint. Therefore it was pursuing him. And it was not running: you can see the mark of its heel every time. Though in all conscience with a stride like that it would have no need to."

"Good Lord! it's a bit grim," said Percy shakily. "What do you think happened, Jim?"

"My dear man, I know no more than you do. Perhaps the thing went on board, as Bill said, and forcibly seized Lopez. Perhaps Lopez swam ashore, and came walking down here. All that I can tell you for certain is what is written there in the soft ground. And that is that at this actual spot the Brazilian was fleeing for his life pursued by something, the like of which I have never come across before."

"And which must certainly have caught him," said his cousin.

"Unless a miracle occurred."

"And then?"

Jim pointed to the bog.

"That would seem at any rate one solution," he remarked quietly. "Though they may, of course, be keeping him as a prisoner. And now to get down to the present situation, young feller. You may remember I mentioned the possibility of these things being harmless. Well, you can wash that out."

"Carry on," said Percy.

"It's up to you to decide. Do you want to go on, or do you want to go back? I tell you candidly that I think we may at any moment bump into a position of very grave danger."

"What are you going to do yourself?" demanded his cousin.

"In view of the fact that that poor devil may still be alive, I'm going on," said Jim.

"Then I'm darned well coming too," cried Percy. "In fact your question, my dear James, seems to be of the fatuous order that I have so often noted with pain over the rest of your conversation."

"Stout fellow," grinned Jim. "Let's push."

They skirted round the sodden patch, and twenty yards beyond it came to what Jim had been searching for. Stretching into the forest till it disappeared in the gloom ran a path: they had found at any rate one of the tracks that might lead them to the solution of the mystery.

They stood for a time getting their eyes accustomed to the semi-darkness after the blinding sunshine: then Jim took his revolver from its holster.

"Take yours out too, Percy," he said, "but for the love of Allah don't point it anywhere near me. And keep your eyes skinned over the back of your shoulder. You don't want to be surprised from behind."

The going was good: evidently the path was one in frequent use. To start with it ran quite straight: then it began to twist and jink though the general direction remained the same. And after a while even the sound of the surf died away: the silence seemed to press on them like a blanket.

At length they reached a small clearing from which four other tracks led out like the spokes of a wheel, and Jim paused. None of them seemed to be a direct continuation of the one they had come along, and it was a toss-up which to take. The compass was well-nigh useless, as they had only the vaguest idea of their present position, but Jim finally selected one that ran a little south of west. Then having placed a conspicuous fern to mark the path they had come by they started along the new one.

The pace Jim set was as fast as he dared, consistent with safety. He had not exaggerated when he spoke of very grave danger, and he realised that it would be graver still if darkness overtook them while they were still in the forest. And so, whilst he scouted with the utmost caution whenever he came to a bend, he almost ran along the straight stretches. The reassuring thing was the continued silence, which seemed to indicate that the other occupants of the forest were asleep. And he was sufficiently confident of his powers of stalking to hope that, if that were so, he would be able, if they had the luck to find them, to get near enough to see what manner of thing it was they were up against, and then get away again in safety. There might even be a bare possibility of rescuing the Brazilian if he was still alive, but that could only be decided later.

Such was the general plan he decided on as they pressed forward, when there came a sudden startling interruption. From away to the left a ship's siren blared three times. They halted abruptly, and Jim stared at his cousin.

"I wonder who that is," he said thoughtfully.

"Probably that ship we saw from the top of the hill," answered Percy.

The siren wailed again, and Jim frowned.

"What are they making that infernal din for?" he cried. "Sounds to me as if they were signalling. Percy, I wonder if that is Miguel's yacht come earlier than we expected. If so..."

He did not complete the sentence, for a further interruption occurred, this time much nearer at hand. The bell they had heard that morning began to toll, and with it the sleeping forest awakened to life. From all around them came the sounds of movement, and Jim seized his cousin by the arm.

"In here, for your life," he muttered, forcing his way off the track into the undergrowth. "We're right in the middle of them."

The bell went on tolling, though its sound was almost drowned by the noises around them. And once or twice a hoarse bellow, that was half roar, half grunt, rang out.

They cowered down behind some giant ferns: some of the things were close to them. But so dense was the vegetation that they could see nothing. And after a while the sounds grew fainter and fainter until they died away in the distance. The bell ceased tolling: silence settled once again.

At length Jim straightened up and stepped out into the path.

"That was rather nearer than I liked," he remarked. "It is a damned lucky thing for us, old lad, that they were asleep when we arrived."

"What do you make of it, Jim?" said his cousin.

"The bell was obviously a warning signal," he answered, "which was rung when the siren was heard. And now they have gone off to investigate."

"But what are they?" cried Percy.

"You can take it from me," said Jim gravely, "that whatever they are, it is a question of running no risks. But since we are here, and the owners of the place appear to have gone, we may as well explore a little further."

They moved on cautiously: it was more than likely that all of them had not gone, and that a guard had been left. And then, quite unexpectedly the track opened out into a big clearing.

"Good God!" muttered Jim, "look at that."

The space was some thirty yards square, with several openings similar to the one they stood in. Above them the trees met, seemingly a solid ceiling of scarlet, splashed here and there with the vivid blues and yellows of gaudily coloured parrots. Shafts of sunlight shone through, dappling the sides with every shade of green: it was a riot of colour that would have made an artist rave. But the two men who stood motionless at the entrance hardly noticed it: they had eyes only for what stood in the centre of the ground.

Hanging from a frame was a brass bell, which was still swinging gently though no sound came from it. And chased on the bell in black lettering they could read the words—S.S. Paquinetta. Underneath it, between the two uprights a man was sitting, a man who did not stir. His knees, lashed together with some fibrous stuff, were drawn up: his hands were stretched out in front of him. His head lolled sideways: his face, so distorted with agony and terror, that the features were almost unrecognizable, stared at them. It was Lopez, the Brazilian, and he was dead.

"Poor devil," muttered Percy shakily. "How did they do it?"

"Ask me another," said Jim grimly, as he bent over the dead man. "They've murdered him somehow, and yet there's not a sign of any violence nor a trace of any blood."

"Perhaps he died of fright."

"Fright may send a man mad, but I've never yet heard of it killing anybody."

He again bent over the Brazilian, and suddenly he gave an exclamation.

"Look at his right hand," he said. "Do you see how terribly swollen it is? He's been poisoned, Percy. That's how they killed the poor blighter."

He straightened up thoughtfully.

"And if they used poison," he continued, "and lashed his legs, it proves they have a certain measure of human brain. No mere animal would do such a thing."

He stared round doubtfully: what was the best thing to do? Never again would they have such an opportunity for exploration. A number of paths similar to the one they had come by led out of the clearing: it seemed too good a chance to miss. And selecting one at random he started along it.

It led to another clearing, and they had barely gone ten yards along it when he stopped short with a sudden gasp.

"Great Heavens!" he muttered. "It can't be true."

In the centre of the second space there stood a mysterious object. It was about four feet high and fashioned into the representation of a grotesque little man. The thing was a monstrosity with a huge paunch and tiny legs. In colour it was dull yellow, and in the centre of the forehead there glittered a blood-red pool of light. And after a while the usually imperturbable Jim began to shake with uncontrollable excitement: he had seen that dull yellow before in smaller images, and knew what it meant.

"Gold, Percy: gold or I'll eat my hat," he cried. "And if that's a ruby in its forehead it is worth a king's ransom."

The thing stood on a little island with a circular strip of water some five feet wide all round it. Between its base and the water there was undergrowth also to a width of about five feet.

"It's the temple of their image," went on Jim. "Gosh! old lad, what about having a dart for that ruby. If it's gold, as I'm sure it is, there will be no difficulty in working it loose."

"I'm with you," cried Percy, "but we'd better get a move on."

They went towards it, and suddenly with a cry of warning Jim tried to spring back. For the ground in front seemed to rise towards them, and they felt themselves falling through space. So intent had they been on the idol that they had paid no attention to the path. And they had trodden on one end of some baulks of wood roughly joined together which pivoted seesaw fashion on a central hinge.

It was not a long fall, and they picked themselves up shaken but otherwise unhurt, as the thing creaked back into position again leaving them in darkness.

"One of the oldest native animal traps there is," cried Jim bitterly. "My God! Percy, we've let ourselves in for it now. Thank heavens! there were no spikes at the bottom. What a foul stench," he added.

And then he paused abruptly and gripped his cousin's arm.

"There's something here," he muttered. "I can hear it moving."

They crouched motionless staring into the darkness, and quite distinctly they could hear its heavy breathing. Then came a slow movement, as if some big body was gradually changing its position. The smell seemed to increase, and they waited tensely, conscious only of the loud beating of their own hearts.

Came a grunt and a shuffling noise: the thing was coming towards them. And suddenly they saw two gleaming eyes not a yard away. The thing was on them, and at that moment Jim's revolver roared out, sounding deafening in the shut in space.

The eyes disappeared: he had fired straight between them. There was a thud which shook the ground, one or two convulsive movements, then silence. The thing was dead.

"That's going to bring them about our heels," muttered Jim, "if they're anywhere in the neighbourhood."

And then he gave a sudden exclamation.

"By Jove!" he cried, "I believe this is a passage, and not merely a trap. It's lighter along there."

"Are you going to have a look and see what you've killed?" said his cousin.

"I'm going to beat it while the going is good," answered Jim grimly. "If we're found here, my lad, we shan't be needing our return tickets from Rio."

He led the way, and his surmise was correct. They were in an underground tunnel, and on coming to the bend where it had seemed to Jim to be less dark they could see the entrance ahead of them. They raced towards it, up the rising ground; and found that it opened into a corner of the original clearing. And for a while they stood there listening. Had the sound of the shot brought the others back? But nothing stirred: save for the motionless figure of the dead Brazilian the place was deserted.

Suddenly Percy gripped his cousin's arm again.

"Look down that track," he muttered. "I saw something move. Something dark. It swung itself across. Man, it was the size of an elephant."

"I don't see anything," said Jim. "Are you sure?"

"It was gone in a flash," cried Percy. "But I know I saw it."

"Then let's go," remarked the other. "Probably our hosts are returning. You lead the way this time."

And with a final glance at the dead man, and the bell from the ill-fated Paquinetta he followed his cousin out of the clearing.