“Now come!” she cried. “Quickly!”
Stark amazement had held Drake motionless. But swiftly he rallied his wits. Probably the lion was tamed, harmless. Hastily he squeezed through the bars into Nero’s cage.
The lion burst from the girl’s grasp. Roaring, he hurled himself at the door. It shook under the impact. A snarling devil-mask glared into Drake’s face; a hot breath was nauseating in his nostrils. This was no tamed, harmless beast!
He drew back, hoping the door would hold. Leeta pulled the lion’s mane. He made a tentative cuff at her, but she slapped his muzzle mercilessly. After a moment the great head dropped.
“Nero knows me,” the girl said. “You, he does not know. I’d better get him away, so that you can come out.”
“Wait a minute,” Drake requested. “How is it that he doesn’t attack you?”
Leeta seemed surprised. “But I have grown up with them. My Father let me play with the cubs when I was a child. They all know me. They know the smell of this.” She indicated her lion skin garment.
Drake shot a swift glance around. The midget was nowhere in sight. Leeta said:
“I’ll lead Nero away. Then you can get out.”
Something made Drake ask, “But your father? Won’t he—”
“Carse?” The girl’s eyes flamed with golden fires. “He is not my Father! My Father is dead—long ago. Killed by the lions. He worked with Carse in the circus, and—and—”
She hesitated, went on swiftly. “Hurry, now. Before he gets back.”
Drake watched the girl urge the lion away. The beast could have killed her with one blow of a steel-taloned paw; yet the blow was not dealt. At last the two paused beside an empty cage, and into it Leeta coaxed the lion. She came hurrying back, and Drake went to meet her.
“There was no lock on it,” she said, shrugging. “But I think the bar will hold.”
Drake looked at her in silence. She met his gaze calmly. “You’d better go. At once.”
“All right,” Drake acquiesced. “But you’re not safe here—you can’t be. Not with Carse.”
“I don’t fear him,” Leeta said quietly. “He fears me. Go now.”
Drake turned, scanning the yard. The walls were high and bare, broken only at one point by the office door. He moved in that direction.
THE girl halted him. “Let me go first. I’ll see if Carse—” She tested the knob, swung the door open slowly.
“Come in,” a silky voice said. “Come in, Leeta. Bring your friend.”
The midget was standing near the doorway. He gestured with the automatic in his hand. Leeta shrank back, hesitating. Drake thrust himself between her and the gun’s menace. Then he saw who was in the office.
Joan Kirby! She sat rigidly in a chair, eyes wide and frightened. The midget said peremptorily:
“Come in! This girl came to inquire about your health. I had occasion to tell her you had suffered a slight accident.”
Drake moved forward, Leeta at his heels. So Joan, too, had been trapped by the midget! Carse’s lips quirked in a one-sided smile.
“Wait a minute,” he commanded. “Go back. Into the yard. You, too, Miss—eh? We can talk more freely there—safe from interruption.”
Carse herded the three of them back through the door. His doll-like face was flushed, the black eyes unnaturally bright.
“Pete!” he called sharply.
There was a little hut within the compound about twenty feet away, and from it emerged the bony, sallow man Drake had seen before. He shambled forward, dully eying the group. A lion roared.
“Pete,” the midget smiled. “You won’t need the horse meat today. We have other food for the lions.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Drake said hoarsely. “The police—”
“The police? What of the police? They do not come here. Why should they? The—er—bones will be burned, but I scarcely think they’ll be recognizable after the lions—” He paused.
“Perhaps I am too forthright.” His tone was mocking. “The girl seems somewhat ill.”
Joan was swaying, her face paperwhite. Drake drew her close.
“It’s all right, dear,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “Buck up. We’re not—not dead yet.”
“An excellent philosophy,” said the midget approvingly. “No doubt it will comfort you while being eaten.”
Leeta cried out sharply. “Carse! You can’t do that!”
“No? But you needn’t worry, my dear. I shall not hurt you, of course. Merely our two uninvited guests.”
A half-muffled oath came from Pete. Carse glanced at the man, and Pete shrank back, his wrinkled face fearful. Drake’s muscles tensed, but before he could move the midget’s eyes had flashed back to him.
“Careful! Keep—”
Then Pete leaped. It was hopeless, of course. He was nearly a dozen feet away, and before he reached Carse the midget crouched and whirled, his gun roaring. Flame belched from the muzzle.
Pete stumbled, fell. He lay face down on the ground, writhing with a horribly serpentine movement. The midget snarled:
“No more of this! I’ll put a slug in both of you right now, and waste no more—”
Ominously a lion growled. Then another took it up. The smell of blood was in the air, and the great beasts lifted their heads and sniffed—and roared. A crashing impact came from near by, and Drake, glancing around quickly, saw a great, tawny bulk rear against a barred door.
It was Nero—the man-killer. His deep roar sounded again, and once more he hurled himself against the bars. The door shook, but held. Abruptly Drake remembered Leeta’s words:
“There was no lock on it—but I think the bar will hold.”
Would it hold?
The midget’s eyes were glassy as he stared at Drake. His cheeks were a bright scarlet. Drake lifted himself on the balls of his feet, ready for the death-signal he knew he would read in the killer’s eyes.
Two things happened simultaneously: the bark of the shot, and Leeta’s cry as she flung herself forward. Her hand was extended to grip the gun, but failed to touch it.
She cried out, a soft, agonized moan, and smashed into the midget.
He was borne down under her dead weight. Horribly the back of the girl’s head had vanished in a ghastly explosion, and she was a corpse before the sound of the explosion had died away.
Drake went suddenly sick.
IN a split second he knew that there was but one chance. Carse was too far away for Drake to reach before the midget should recover the gun, jarred from his hand by the fall. Already the tiny fingers were closing over the weapon. But if they could reach the office—
The roaring of the caged beasts, frantic with blood-stench, was deafening. As Drake raced toward the door, half carrying, half dragging Joan, he heard a roar louder than the rest— heard something crash and splinter under a fearful impact.
Then he was clawing at the handle, swinging the door open, thrusting Joan to safety, expecting every moment to feel the shock of a bullet between his shoulder blades.
He caught one flashing glimpse as he went through the door. The midget had fought free of Leeta’s body, was on his feet—but he was not facing Drake. Something came charging across the yard, something that moved with express-train speed, roaring as it came.
Nero was free!
Carse fired point-blank. He could not stop that terrible charge. The lion sprang. Simultaneously Drake saw a movement near him. A man was staggering toward the door, clutching a bleeding wound in his side. It was Pete.
The midget was down now, but his gun still thundered. The lion’s roaring was edged with pain. The beast put one great paw on Carse’s back, holding him down, and threw back the great, shaggy head. Drake saw blood gushing from the thick mane.