Have you any idea?" asked von Horn.

The Chinaman shook his head.

"No savvy," he replied. "Blig flight. Look see,"
and he pointed to the torn and trampled turf,
the broken bushes, and to one or two small trees
that had been snapped off by the impact of the two
mighty bodies that had struggled back and forth
about the little clearing.

"This way," cried Sing presently, and started off once
more into the brush, but this time in a northwesterly
direction, toward camp.

In silence the three men followed the new trail,
all puzzled beyond measure to account for the death
of Number One at the hands of what must have been a
creature of superhuman strength. What could it have
been! It was impossible that any of the Malays or
lascars could have done the thing, and there were no
other creatures, brute or human, upon the island large
enough to have coped even for an instant with the
ferocious brutality of the dead monster, except--
von Horn's brain came to a sudden halt at the thought.
Could it be? There seemed no other explanation.
Virginia Maxon had been rescued from one soulless
monstrosity to fall into the hands of another equally
irresponsible and terrifying.