Carse led the way. At one of the cages a man was busy with a hose, sluicing it out. The lion crouched in a corner, a huge black-maned beast that lifted its feet and shook them with curiously catlike daintiness. The man turned as the two approached.
“That’ll do, Pete,” Carse ordered. “Let the feeding wait awhile, will you?”
Pete looked up swiftly. He was a gaunt, sallow creature who looked like a skeleton, with jaundiced skin hung loosely on his bones. His sunken eyes were dull.
“But—they won’t—”
“You heard what I said, Pete.” Carse’s voice was very gentle. The other nodded and turned away.
Drake was examining the lion. “Is this Nero?” he asked.
“The killer? No, he’s over there.” Carse gestured and led the way. As Drake followed his eyes were busy searching the enclosure. There was little to be seen, and few places where a man—or a body—might be hidden.
A horrible thought came to Drake as he saw Nero, the giant man-killer, toying with a gnawed white bone, to which bits of gristle still clung. But a second glance reassured him.
“We feed the lions on horse meat,” Carse said dryly, following Drake’s gaze. “The cubs have milk, until they’re old enough for meat”
Drake was examining Nero’s cage. Unlike the others, it was divided into two parts by a partition of iron bars. In one paced the great lion, a growl rumbling in his throat as he glared at the two men. The other was empty.
Carse touched Drake’s arm. “Come along. I’ll show you the cubs.”
The midget seemed fearless. Ignoring the mewling, clawing menace of a lion cub, he picked it up and held a nursing bottle to its mouth. After a moment the cub quieted and sucked greedily, white drops splattering its muzzle.
Carse seemed, on the surface, bland enough to disarm suspicion, and Drake found himself growing more and more at a loss. If Petrie were indeed hidden on the lion farm, he was hidden well. Drake had not made up his mind what to do by the time the tour was over, and Carse was ushering his guest into the office.
The midget lifted Drake’s coat from its hanger. Abruptly his tiny hand went exploringly into the pockets. It came out with a slip of white paper.
Before Drake could move Carse had unfolded the paper and scanned it swiftly.
Drake snapped, “What the devil’s the idea?” He stepped forward, his hand extended—and stopped dead. The midget’s hand flew down to his belt, swung up with the deadly pistol aimed unwaveringly at Drake’s stomach.
“Now, now!” Carse’s voice was gently admonitory. “You know, I’ve often heard that a man can face a gun aimed at his eyes, but can’t stand one aimed at his stomach. Curious, isn’t it?”
“Listen!” Drake growled. “You can’t expect to get away with this. What`s in that note?” But already he had guessed. A message — from Petrie!
Carse chuckled. “Merely a love letter from one of the lions. They’re always trying to smuggle out notes. Turn around and go back into the yard, please. Or I’ll blow a hole in your belly.”
A LITTLE finger of horror traced a path down Drake’s spine. For all the softly spoken words of the little midget, he sensed deadly menace. The man’s black eyes were blood-hungry, betraying the pink-cheeked innocence of his face.
Without a word Drake turned and retraced his steps. At Nero’s cage, Carse halted him. He fumbled with a lock.
“Good God, man!” Drake gasped. “Are you going to—”
“Feed you to the lion? Not at the moment. I have a more—well, shall I say amusing?—plan. Get in.”
Carse opened the barred door. Under the menace of the gun Drake entered. He might not have done so if he had not noticed that while Nero paced restlessly on his half of the cage, the barred partition held him at a safe distance.
Straw crunched under Drake’s feet. Carse locked the door and stepped back.
“No, I’ll not feed you to Nero — right now. However, you’ll note that the bars which separate you from Nero are movable. They slide down into the floor.
“There’s a clock-work arrangement which took me some time to prepare —it releases the bars, and removes any hindrances from Nero’s hunger. He hasn’t been fed for some time.”
Beyond the bars the lion paced, sniffling noisily at the straw. Drake’s back felt sweaty.
“I’ll not tell you just when the bars will be released,” the midget went on, smiling. “That would be too easy. You’ll simply wait, not knowing when you’ll die—and I don’t think you’ll find the period of waiting enjoyable.
“It’s a curious thing,” he said very seriously. “Men condemned to death —hardened, courageous thugs—often become hysterical if for some reason their execution is postponed. I remember one case—a man was waiting to be hanged, and was actually on the scaffold when somehow the trap couldn’t be sprung.
“The noose was already around the condemned man’s neck. For months he’d stubbornly refused to talk to anyone, except to curse the priest who attended him.
“He went to pieces because the trap couldn’t be sprung immediately. Hysterically he begged to be killed. He could wait — courageously — for certain death. But he couldn’t bear to wait in ignorance of just when he’d die.
“I’m a student of human nature— an amateur psychologist, as you may have noticed. And I’ve often wished to experiment with the reactions of a condemned man who doesn’t know when he’ll die.”
Drake didn’t answer. He was remembering Joan. He still had an ace in the hole. She would go for help if he did not return within half an hour. Automatically he glanced at his wristwatch.
The midget chuckled. “Anxious already, eh? Well, it’ll do you no good to know what time it is, as long as you don’t know when Nero will be loosed. He seems hungry. Poor beast.”
The great lion reared upright against the bars, shaking them with his talons. The acrid stench was overpowering.
Carse went away.
Drake looked at his watch again. Then he glanced at the lion, who was watching him unwinkingly out of amber eyes. The beast yawned, and stretched luxuriously.
It relaxed on the straw and waited, panting a little. Drake wondered whether this trap had ever been used before. Certainly Nero seemed to know what to expect.
But the diabolical little midget would get no satisfaction from him, Drake resolved. Still, it wasn’t likely that the bars would fall very soon. Carse would wish to prolong his victim’s agony.
If only Joan could summon help in time—
“Hello,” said a low voice.
DRAKE turned. A girl was standing outside the cage. She wore a scanty garment of lion skin that left one softly rounded shoulder bare. Her eyes were yellow—tawny, like a cat’s. Her long hair was the same color.
Drake stared. The girl said, “I am Leeta. Carse plans to kill you, eh?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “Can—will you let me out of here?”
“I can’t. But—” The girl’s tawny eyes lightened. “You can squeeze into Nero’s cage, eh?”
That was true. The bars in the partition were set further apart than the others. Drake might conceivably squeeze through — but what good would that do? He told the girl as much.
“Oh, yes. You are afraid of Nero.” She pondered. “I know! Wait.”
Quickly she raced around the cage, slim legs flashing. For a moment she fumbled with the door to Nero’s cage, then swung it wide. A startled cry rose in Drake’s throat.
The girl was walking into the carnivore’s cage—fearlessly! Nor was the lion harming her! He looked up, a low growl rumbling in his throat. The girl — Leeta — swung herself astride his back. Her slim fingers entwined in his mane.
“Up, Nero!” she commanded. “Up!”
The beast arose. At the girl’s urging he moved out of the cage. Leeta leaped from his back, swung the door shut.