“If I could have one more fling at them.” groaned Holman.  “By all that’s holy, Verslun, I feel that I could fight a million if these ropes were off me.”

He endeavoured to get his face down to the bandages on my wrists, but we had been strapped in such a manner that it was impossible to reach any of the ropes with our teeth, so we lay quiet and reviewed the legion of tormenting thoughts that marched through our minds.  The jungle, like the three natives, seemed to be waiting for a happening.  The silence was more horrible than the thunder of an earthquake.  It seemed to well out from the silent three, till we longed with a great longing for some terrific and prolonged noise to shiver it and send battalions of echoes to chase it into the hills.

The moon peered above the black cliffs, and the surroundings became more distinct.  We were on the edge of a clearing, and there was something vaguely familiar about the trees that our cramped position allowed us to see.  We felt certain that we had passed this place on our journey from the yacht, and each minute that passed strengthened the conviction.

“Seems to me that I’ve seen that tree before,” muttered Holman.

“I hold the same impression,” I said.

“And those rocks,” remarked the youngster.  “Why, we’re going back to The Waif!”

The three natives rose together at that moment and gripped the rope.  We gave a joint groan of agony as our stiffened limbs were jerked forward, and as we were pulled from the fringe of reed-like grass our exact whereabouts were made known to us.  Standing up against the moon, the rim of the orb showing just above the massive top, was the great stone table that Holman and I had climbed two nights before!

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVII

BENEATH THE CENTIPEDE

The natives moved at a slow walk across the clearing, and for this little indulgence we were exceedingly thankful.  There was no grass covering upon the bed of coral rock in the middle of which the singular structure stood, and our bleeding bodies could have hardly stood a swift gallop across the prickly surface.  As it was we were immensely glad when the trinity halted in front of the edifice.

“Say,” murmured Holman, “do you remember what the Professor said about this place the other night when he was speaking about sacrificial altars?”

I groaned as an intimation that the subject was not a pleasant one, but Holman wanted to make public admission that he had exhibited gross ignorance in ridiculing the Professor’s assertions.

“I thought he was handing it out too strong, Verslun,” he murmured, “but it strikes me now that he had the right dope about this infernal thing.  I believe they’re going to settle us.”