though he was still hopelessly a prisoner in the Blue Place of
Seven Skulls.

With his back against the wall for support, so weak the reaction
left him, Bradley stood watching the creature upon the floor.
He saw it move and slowly raise itself to its hands and knees,
where it swayed to and fro as its eyes roved about in search of
him; and when at last they found him, there broke from the drawn
lips the mumbled words: "Food! Food! There is a way out!"
The pitiful supplication in the tones touched the Englishman's heart.
He knew that this could be no Wieroo, but possibly once a man like
himself who had been cast into this pit of solitary confinement
with this hideous result that might in time be his fate, also.

And then, too, there was the suggestion of hope held out by the
constant reiteration of the phrase, "There is a way out."
Was there a way out? What did this poor thing know?

"Who are you and how long have you been here?" Bradley
suddenly demanded.

For a moment the man upon the floor made no response, then
mumblingly came the words: "Food! Food!"

"Stop!" commanded the Englishman--the injunction might have been
barked from the muzzle of a pistol. It brought the man to a
sitting posture, his hands off the ground. He stopped swaying to
and fro and appeared to be startled into an attempt to master his
faculties of concentration and thought.