“What is it?” asked Holman.

“Some one go by, much hurry,” murmured the Fijian.

We crouched in the bushes and listened.  It was hardly likely that Leith had changed his route, and the only person that we knew to be in our neighbourhood was the dancer.

“If we could get hold of him we might use the third degree on him to guide us to the spot that Leith is making for,” said Holman.  “We’ll be outgeneralled completely if he gets into those caverns on the hills.  If he has provisions he can snap his fingers at a regiment.”

I agreed with him on that point.  The valley inside the basalt cliffs, and which, as far as we could judge, could only be entered by the slippery pathway in the Vermilion Pit, was about the finest natural hiding place in the world.  Without taking the caves into consideration, the luxurious vegetation in the cup between the hills made the finding of a person a matter of extreme luck.  It was a marvellous maze that Nature seemed to have constructed especially for the diabolical work in which Leith was engaged.

Kaipi’s ear was still to the ground, and the anxious look upon his face convinced us that some one was close.

“Coming back again,” breathed the Islander.  “One man, walk slow.”

Our own ears acquainted us of the approach at that moment.  The sound of crackling twigs was quite close, and we waited breathlessly, eying the green curtain through which we expected the unknown to thrust himself.

A black head bobbed through the leaves, and Holman planted a fist between the newcomer’s eyes before the head could be withdrawn.  The morning visitor dropped to the ground, and the three of us promptly fell upon him, the bloodthirsty Kaipi having to be restrained by main force from giving another exhibition of neat knifework.

“Who is it?” asked Holman.  “Get back, Kaipi, and let me see.”

We dragged the panting prisoner into the light, but instead of the escaped dancer, we found that we had trapped one of the five carriers, a big Raretongan named Maru, who was possessed of enormous strength.

Holman’s punch had been no light one, and it was a few seconds before the mists had cleared from the Raretongan’s brain; then his big brown eyes lit up with a smile of gladness, and he nodded to Holman.

“Me want you,” he said.

“Quite so,” muttered Holman, “but I got you first.”

Maru smiled the smile of the man who has a card up his sleeve, and he fumbled in the folds of his sulu till he found what he wanted.  With a dramatic flourish he drew from the cloth a small emerald ring that belonged to Barbara Herndon, and he smiled childishly as he saw the look of astonishment upon Holman’s face as he snatched the trinket.

“Why—­who—­how the devil did you get this?” he asked.

“Little missee give me,” replied Maru, still convulsed with the humour which his childish mind found in the situation.  “She tell me come alonga you.”