separated silently and gave entrance to a dark-robed figure, which
passed noiselessly from the darkness without to the darkness within.
Cautiously the prowler crossed the interior. In one hand was a
long knife. He came at last to the pile of blankets spread upon
several rugs close to one of the tent walls.

Lightly, his fingers sought and found the bulk beneath the
blankets--the bulk that should be Albert Werper. They traced out
the figure of a man, and then an arm shot upward, poised for an
instant and descended. Again and again it rose and fell, and each
time the long blade of the knife buried itself in the thing beneath
the blankets. But there was an initial lifelessness in the silent
bulk that gave the assassin momentary wonder. Feverishly he threw
back the coverlets, and searched with nervous hands for the pouch
of jewels which he expected to find concealed upon his victim's
body.

An instant later he rose with a curse upon his lips. It was Achmet
Zek, and he cursed because he had discovered beneath the blankets
of his lieutenant only a pile of discarded clothing arranged in
the form and semblance of a sleeping man--Albert Werper had fled.

Out into the village ran the chief, calling in angry tones to the
sleepy Arabs, who tumbled from their tents in answer to his voice.
But though they searched the village again and again they found no
trace of the Belgian. Foaming with anger, Achmet Zek called his
followers to horse, and though the night was pitchy black they set
out to scour the adjoining forest for their quarry.

As they galloped from the open gates, Mugambi, hiding in a nearby