r do his next words tend
towards in any wise dispelling it.

"They were killed, the whole lot of them. Cut up, by Jove! I'm the
only man left alive out of the whole blessed crowd. Funny thing, isn't
it?"

"Rather. Who killed them, and where?" And there is a note of anxiety
in the tone of the question.

"We were attacked by Rumaliza's people couple of days' march back. They
surprised us, and I am the only one left alive. But, I say, don't
bother me with any more questions. I'm tired. D'you hear? I'm tired."

"I expect you are. Well, come along and join us. We're going to camp
down yonder by the water. You'll want a little overhauling after the
cutting and wounding you seem to have gone through, and here's the very
man to overhaul you--Dr Ahern," indicating his white comrade.

But the response to this friendly overture is astounding.

"Oh, go away. I don't want you at all. I didn't ask you to come, and I
don't want you here bothering me. When I do I'll tell you." And
without another word the speaker turns and dives into the hut again.
The two left outside stare blankly at each other.

"A clear case for you, doctor. The chap's off his chump. Say, though,
I wonder if there's anything in that yarn of his about being attacked by
Rumaliza's people."

"Might easily be. We'll have to keep a bright look-out, if any of them
are around. But we must get him out."

"We must."

The same idea was in both their minds. It was not a pleasant thing to
have to creep through that open door with the probability of being
brained by a powerful maniac waiting for them in the pitchy darkness
beyond.

"I'll strike a light," says the younger of the two men. And, taking out
his match-box, he passes quickly through the aperture, at the same time
striking a couple of wax vestas.

The object of his search is lying in a corner. Beside him, gleaming
whitely, are two fleshless skeletons. There is a third, all battered to
pieces. It is a weird and gruesome spectacle in the extreme.

But the unfortunate man's dispositions seem scarcely aggressive as they
bend over him. He does not move.

"He's unconscious," pronounces the doctor. "That simplifies matters.
Pick up that end of him, and we'll carry him out."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

AFTER TEN YEARS.

"I say! Was I very `dotty'?"

"Pretty well. But that's only natural under the circs."

"Talk much, and all that sort of thing--eh, did I?"

"Oh, yes. The us