Of a sudden, wild incredulity flooded her countenance.
Phil heard a choking gasp at his side.
“Audrey!” muttered Forbes, and the word was as a prayer.
“Arthur!” she cried.
He went to her in a swift flash of motion that took no heed of threatening dangers. “Arthur,” she said once more, as his arms folded about her, and the tone was a caress.
“Come back and be married. Come back and be married!” chanted the dry voice of the old hag.
“Come and be married! Awwwrk!”
There was the slippety-slop of feet on the stone.
The girl’s eyes darkened once more with terror. Phil could see her blue lips whispering rapid words to Arthur Forbes, saw him stiffen. And then there was the pad-pad of swift feet, and the hairy arm of a man-ape reached out.
A body followed the arm, a grimacing face. Phil recognized the ape as being the one he had encountered in the passageway below. By some secret side-exit he had returned to the rooms above.
But now there was no fear upon the bestial countenance, merely a savage leer of animal triumph. At the sight of Arthur Forbes, his lips curled back from glittering fangs. For a moment he stood so.
Phil raised the automatic.
A bounding ball of swift motion cut across the sights. With a gasp of surprise Phil realized what had happened. Arthur Forbes had moved to the attack.
His left and right flashed squarely into the face of the snarling beast, staggered it. But those long, hairy arms, so heavily muscled that they seemed as the legs of a lion, swept up, encircled the man in a hideous embrace. The snarling face of the enraged beast was thrust close. The bared fangs snapped for the throat.
Forbes jerked his head back and to one side, dodged the menace of that first spring. The girl screamed again. Pattering feet ran down the corridor.
Forbes struggled valiantly, sought to free one of his arms, to press back against the crushing pressure that enfolded him. As well have sought to struggle with a steam hammer. With a gloating snarl of cruel bloodlust upon its countenance, the ape freed one hairy arm, reached upward with talon fingers, and cruelly sought to pluck out his adversary’s eyes, one at a time.
But that motion gave Phil the chance he sought. The line of the sights ceased to show a blur of bodies struggling for life, and showed instead merely a furry body with white face twisted into an expression of fiendish rage.
He squeezed the trigger.
The hall reverberated to the roar of the explosion. The hairy body staggered, then stood erect. One of the arms clutched at the side of the head.
Arthur Forbes wormed free. The ape staggered forward. Forbes braced himself, swung a terrific right, catching the beast full upon the chin. It wobbled backward, and Forbes sprang to the side of the girl.
“This way,” called Phil, sprinting to their side, pointing down a side passageway.
Over their shoulder he could see a confused throng. There was the old man with the wizened countenance, his rheumy eyes expressionless, glittering darkly, the old woman with the parrot perched perpetually upon her shoulder; and the swarming natives, robed as for some strange ceremony. Behind them were the drummers, and behind them, in a room that radiated soft light, a horde of monkeys, sitting upon perches, tails twisting and twining.
The couple ran down the corridor. Phil remained behind, the automatic menacing those who followed. A native lowered a deadly knife, charged, chanting some weird song.
Phil’s finger squeezed the trigger. The native stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, stumbled, fell sprawling. The others swarmed over him, steady, relentless. The corridors reechoed the force of the explosion, sending it back multiplied a hundredfold.
The old man was the leader, and the natives seemed to look to his leadership, suiting their pace to his. After that one wild rush by the native, the throng advanced in a steady manner, as remorseless as the welling of an incoming tide. The old man was making such time as his withered limbs permitted. The others suited their pace to his.
“It’s a blind corridor, that’s why they’re taking their time, old chap,” said Forbes, looking ahead.
Phil’s grip tightened. He knew there were only a few more shells in the gun. Before that revengeful horde, seeking his death in such a remorseless, deliberate fashion, he would be torn to pieces. Anything was better than that. And there was the thought of the girl.
“The last shots are for the three of us,” she pleaded softly. “You don’t know the cruelty of them. Please.”
But a line in the masonry caught Phil’s eye. He acted upon a hunch, placed his shoulder against it and pushed. The wall seemed to yield, and than a door swung back upon well-oiled hinges.
“This way,” he called, and pushed the others within.
Two of the natives, barefooted, dark, the light rippling along powerful muscles, dashed forward, knives flashing back.
One of the knives glittered through the air, thudded against the rock wall and tinkled to the pavement. The other was never thrown. Once more Phil’s finger squeezed the trigger, and the man with upraised knife faltered, stumbled, and slumped forward.
Chapter 7
Flight
It was a low exclamation from the girl that attracted Phil’s attention as the door swung back into place and a bar clicked into the masonry.
Audrey Kent was bending over a bed; and on the bed, a gold and stone affair, studded with gems, covered with gold tapestry, lay the slumbering form of Jean Cray son.
The men exchanged swift glances. The impediment of that unconscious figure would greatly lessen their chances of escape. The three might escape. The three, burdened with a sleeping, drugged girl, would be almost certain to face recapture.
But that single glance sufficed for each to know the mind of the other.
Phil tossed the automatic to Forbes.
“You and Miss Kent try to make it. I’ll follow.”
And he stooped to the bed, slipped strong arms under the sleeper, throwing the gold tapestry about her.
“We stick together,” grumbled Forbes in a low voice. “If it’s death we take it standing up and smiling.”
It was then that Audrey Kent seemed to recover from the sheer panic that had gripped her. She laughed, a low, rippling laugh.
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Whoever-you-are.”
There was a window in the wall, open, unbarred. Soft night breezes flicked the delicate curtains which filmed the opening. Forbes thrust his head out.
“Can do,” he said. “It’s not over six feet. I’ll hand the girls down.”
He vaulted lightly. The thud of his landing feet could be heard in the room. Audrey Kent followed, dropped into his waiting arms. Phil lowered the sleeping form, and jumped. From the temple came the sound of a long wail, a cry of sheer animal anguish.
They ran across the bare ground, not knowing where they were going or for what purpose, surrendering themselves to blind flight, trying to leave behind them the memory of that nightmare, escape the crowd of fanatical pursuers.
A door swung open, a long streamer of light oblonged a golden path across the field. Phil, looking up from his labored running, saw the glint of reflected light from some silvery object.
“The cabin plane,” he yelled. “Quick. It’s our only chance!”
They altered their course. From the door came a pell-mell of figures that sent dancing shadows across the oblong of golden light. At their lead was a terrific spectacle, the ape-man who had sat in judgment, his mighty chest thrust forward, head up, jaw set, lips curled back from bare fangs.
He ran, not as a man, but as an ape, assisting himself in the running by touching the ground with the bare knuckles of his hands, swinging along by the aid of those mighty arms. And he made two feet to every one that the crowd behind him covered.