Through the night he staggered, stumbling, falling, getting up. He knew where he was going, but the way seemed endless. His knees were almost giving under him. His body was a quivering mass of pain.
Then he saw the glint of water. With a desperate plunge, he reached it, immersed himself in the river. Its chill was like a merciful poultice. He lay breathing hoarsely, till the poison began to thin as the powder dissolved. He moved his hands across the scratches now, washing the hideous stuff away; washing till each tiny abrasion was clean.
It was minutes before the pain began to abate. It was like the slow withdrawal of burning wires that had been driven into his flesh.
A HALF-HOUR passed. Then again he crept toward the building where he had suffered such torment. The poison of the Kep-shak had left his muscles weak. He didn’t let that stop him. Silent and tense he slipped into the building, crept along the dim corridor to the chamber where Betty was imprisoned. On the threshold he paused, looking in. Fear chilled him for a moment.
Betty’s Dale’s eyes were closed. Her face was pale as death. But she wasn’t dead. Her eyelids lifted at Agent “X’s” cautious hiss. Again he made the mysterious sign — the “X” traced in the air. In spite of this she almost cried out at the sight of his torn clothing and scratched skin.
“X” put his finger to his lips for silence, then drew a knife from his pocket. Quick slashes severed the ropes that bound her, and the Agent motioned Betty to follow him.
But the girl was unable to walk. She took an uncertain step across the floor, then sank down with a little moan.
“In a moment,” she whispered, “I’ll be all right.”
There was no time to wait. One of the Malays might take it into his head to prowl.
Swiftly Agent “X” stooped and gathered Betty in his arms. He was glad she couldn’t see his face, or the sweat that started on his forehead. The effort of picking her up brought gruelling pain back into his muscles. Half of his strength seemed to be gone.
With Betty in his arms, he moved stealthily along the shadowy passage. Once he thought he heard a sound and paused, tensely alert. Then he continued. Outside at last, he stood Betty gently on her feet. He rested a moment, breathing heavily, gathering his spent strength.
“I can walk now,” Betty whispered.
“Wait,” he said. “Later,” and picked her up again.
He moved straight toward the river, planning to skirt its bank. But a whisper of sound came from the building behind them. A human call! One of the Malays was awake!
The sound was repeated, taken up by other voices. The Agent’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. His escape from the idol’s chamber had been discovered.
He turned and cut into the woods. Seconds were precious. He must locate his canoe. He dared not even think of the consequences if they were captured now.
In spite of Betty’s insistence that she could walk, the Agent continued to carry her. The ground was rough, with bushes and vines clogging the path. Everything depended on silence now. His own sure-footed tread, making their progress as quiet as was humanly possible in the underbrush, now and then rustled a leaf, snapped a dry twig.
There came a savage cry from the darkness behind. It was not loud, but held infinite evil. Betty Dale tensed in the Agent’s arms.
HE did not try to reassure her. Every breath, every ounce of strength he possessed must be saved for what he had to do. The canoe lay somewhere ahead where he had left it hidden under the river bank. His sense of direction had never failed him. He knew that even though his brain was still dazed by poison he was heading toward it.
But a tangle of vines impeded his way. They scratched his ankles, clutched at his feet and legs. He had to slow down. Once he tripped and, lacking the freedom of his arms for balance, almost fell.
There were definite sounds of pursuit now. Guttural grunts, low-voiced orders. Bushes rustled perilously close behind. It was like a ghastly nightmare, with the vines clutching at his legs like the fingers of an enemy intent on impeding his progress.
He broke through the mat at last, saw the gleam of water beyond. But the rustlings behind were coming closer. He put Betty down, found that she could walk, and took her hand. Then suddenly he thrust her ahead of him.
“Straight toward the water, Betty.”
He did not tell her why he made her walk ahead. But an instant later he ducked and thrust Betty Dale frantically to one side as something whispered by in the darkness with the thin hum of an insect’s wings. Their brown-skinned pursuers were shooting at them with poisoned darts.
Agent “X” saw the canoe, then, a slim dark shadow among the bushes. He drew Betty down, and they crawled on hands and knees toward the water. “X” shoved the canoe free of the slimy mud edging the shore, then whispered to Betty Dale to get in.
“Lie down,” he said, “flat.”
Betty obeyed. “X” seized a paddle, balanced precariously in the frail craft’s stern, and thrust strongly away from shore. The canoe shot out, sharp prow cutting the water with a knifelike sweep.
But as it did so, winged insects seemed to be following them. Horror crawled along the Agent’s spine as something plucked at his coat sleeve. There was a soft spat as a dart hit one side of the canoe. It quivered there, its sinister green-feathered end showing in the faint starlight.
Agent “X” glanced back toward the island, saw shadows moving along the shore. He dug his paddle into the water, and a powerful back-thrust sent the canoe shooting ahead. Then he, too, bent down, holding himself on braced hands that gripped the canoe’s gunwale.
Two more darts spatted into the canoe’s sides. Others hummed above his head. Then the current caught them, whirled the light craft around. He rose and sent it swiftly downstream.
But a cry rose from the shore. Another low-voiced order. A second later the Agent turned his head and tensed. Something was moving out from the island’s edge — something that lay black on the surface of the river.
Machinery whined. An engine barked into life. The dark shadow turned and glided toward them. The Malays had taken to their motor boat. Death was hurtling out of the darkness behind them.
Chapter XVIII
IT seemed that all the hideous forces of the night were conspiring against them. It seemed almost that the idol, Tuan, had the evil power attributed to him by his followers — and was reaching out fingers to snatch them back.
The Agent’s mouth was set. Pallor spread beneath the disguise he wore. His eyes were points of burning light. The motor boat behind them had turned now. It was plunging down the river’s channel in pursuit.
Muscles in the Agent’s back stood out like knots. He leaned forward at each stroke, dug in, sent the canoe shooting ahead under his paddle thrust.
“If there were only another paddle,” Betty whispered. “I could help you, then. You came to the island to save me.”
“I would have come anyway, Betty. It might as well have been tonight as later.”
There was a note of buoyancy in “X’s” voice. He would not let the girl know the fear he felt. She was being brave — as always — putting his safety ahead of her own. Under the faint starlight he caught the golden glint of her hair, saw her eyes, bright as stars themselves, turned upon him.
“They are coming,” she whispered tensely. “They must know now you are not one of them. They will kill you.”