For about twenty minutes we waited patiently.  Kaipi had asserted that the two savages had slipped into the jungle growth after they had left the table, and it was evident that they had gone to some underground passage that connected with one of the pillars of the altar, through which the crude mechanism for lifting the stone slab had been operated.  With one eye always to the dramatic, the wizards of the long ago had built the altar so that the common worshippers surrounding the place on days when the centipede was called upon to mash some unfortunate victim could not see how the slab was lifted, and would thus put the uplifting of the thing down to supernatural agency.  It was the tribal Houdin who laid the foundation of many a strange belief amongst savage races.

“Must be waiting for him to come to them,” said Holman.  “We’ll give them a few minutes longer.”

It was Kaipi’s sharp eyes that made the discovery.  The pair came cautiously out of the bushes immediately underneath the tree which Holman and I had climbed to obtain a view of the surface of the table two nights before, and they crossed the clearing with hesitating steps.  They evidently expected the officiating wizard to announce in sporting phraseology that the centipede had won the engagement with one swift blow to the body, and when no news was forthcoming they were puzzled.

They confabbed in the centre of the clearing, and then hailed the table in the strange tongue.  Receiving no answer, they again debated with much vigour, and, finally taking their courage in their hands, they came forward with quickened steps.

We crept close to the edge, careful not to peer over while the pair were climbing up.  As far as I was aware we had no plans made for their reception.  Holman and I had no weapons, neither had the two dancers; Kaipi had the ugly short-bladed knife with which he had dispatched Soma’s double.

The puffing of the climbing pair came to us.  They came near and nearer.  A black arm came up over the edge of the table and clawed at the moss-grown stone, but while Holman and I reached forward with the intention of gripping the climber by the throat, Kaipi upset our plans by driving the blade of the knife into the back of the huge paw that was endeavouring to get a grip!

A tremendous howl of pain came from the owner of the hand, the pinioned member was torn from beneath the blade, and as we pushed our heads over the edge, the top climber fell backward, swept his companion from the pillar, and the pair struck the coral rock beneath the table with a thud that was suggestive of broken bones.  The native with the skewered hand picked himself up and dashed toward the trees, but the other remained at the foot of the pillar, and his position led us to believe that his neck had been broken by the fall.

“My knife!” cried Kaipi.  “He knocked my knife down!”

The Fijian swung himself over the edge, and with monkey-like agility slipped down the pillar.  He shouted up to us that he thought that the man on the ground was dead, but having found his precious knife, he proceeded to set all doubts upon the matter at rest.