an?" thought Jack. "Are they only putting us here to
terrify us? The mosquitoes cannot get at us through this netting." But
at the next moment he learned that this was but a trick to prolong
their agony, and cause them to endure an extremity of mental suffering
which the villager had never known. Saya Chone, as ever, was the
spokesman of his master's will.

"You will be safe under these nettings until these cords are pulled,"
he said. Jack and Mr. Haydon looked to the ground whither the
half-caste pointed. There they saw a couple of stout cords, one
fastened at the corner of each mosquito-net.

"A sharp tug at the cord will displace the nets," went on Saya Chone.
"But you will have a chance to save your skins before that is done. In
any case, the first cord will not be pulled until an hour after
sunset. Then," went on the half-caste, addressing himself to Mr.
Haydon, "this is the cord which will be pulled," and he pointed to the
cord fastened to Jack's net. Mr. Haydon ground his teeth. "If you
don't want it pulled," purred Saya Chone softly, "you know what you
have to do, a few words, nothing more. An hour later the other cord
will be pulled, and you will be left for the night. On the other hand,
if you wish for release, you have only to shout that you will tell us,
and a dozen men will rush down with torches and smoking green boughs
to beat aside the mosquitoes, and bring you out in safety. I myself
shall remain under shelter and within earshot."

Without another word he turned and marched up the slope. The
attendants had already retired, and within a few moments the edge of
the swamp was empty save for the prisoners and the dead villager.

Jack closed his eyes. He and his father were so placed that straight
before them, almost at arm's length, was the horrible, shrivelled
figure which was so dreadful a pledge of the terrible powers which
lurked within the dismal swamp behind them.

Jack now heard his father begin to speak. "I see you are gagged,
Jack," said Mr. Haydon. "It is a compliment to your staunchness, my
poor boy, if nothing else. Had they fancied there was the least chance
of your showing the white feather, they would have left you your
powers of speech, that you might beg for release. This is a frightful
position. I have been expecting some cunning device, but this is awful
beyond what I could have dreamed of."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE POTHOODAW.

Jack could make no answer. Mr. Haydon now rema