to the bungalow when the first of the monsters emerged
into the north campong from the workshop. At the door
of his shack Sing Lee drew back to watch, for he knew
that behind them some one was driving these horribly
grotesque creatures from their prison.

One by one they came lumbering into the moonlight until
Sing had counted eleven, and then, after them, came a
white man, bull whip and revolver in hand. It was von
Horn. The equatorial moon shone full upon him--there
could be no mistake. The Chinaman saw him turn and
lock the workshop door; saw him cross the campong to
the outer gate; saw him pass through toward the jungle,
closing the gate.

Of a sudden there was a sad, low moaning through the
surrounding trees; dense, black clouds obscured the
radiant moon; and then with hideous thunder and vivid
flashes of lightning the tempest broke in all its fury
of lashing wind and hurtling deluge. It was the first
great storm of the breaking up of the monsoon, and
under the cover of its darkness Sing Lee scurried
through the monster filled campong to the bungalow.
Within he found the young man bathing Professor Maxon's
head as he had directed him to do.

"All gettee out," he said, jerking his thumb in the
direction of the court of mystery. "Eleven devils.
Plenty soon come bung'low. What do?"