Von Horn was quite sure now that Virginia Maxon was not within the campong.Either she had become confused and lost in the jungle after she left him, or had fallen into the hands of the wild horde that had attacked the camp.Convinced of this, there was no obstacle to thwart the sudden plan which entered his malign brain.
With a single act he could rid himself of the man whom he had come to look upon as a rival, whose physical beauty aroused his envy and jealousy; he could remove, in the person of Professor Maxon, the parental obstacle which might either prevent his obtaining the girl, or make serious trouble for him in case he took her by force, and at the same time he could transfer to the girl's possession the fortune which was now her father's--and he could accomplish it all without tainting his own hands with the blood of his victims.
As the full possibilities of his devilish scheme unfolded before his mind's eye a grim smile curled his straight, thin lips at the thought of the fate which it entailed for the creator of the hideous monsters of the court of mystery.
As he turned away from the bungalow his eye fell upon the trembling lascar who had accompanied him to the edge of the verandah.He must be rid of the fellow in some way--no eye must see him perpetrate the deed he had in mind.A solution quickly occurred to him.
"Hasten to the harbor," he said to the man in a low voice, "and tell those on board the ship that I shall join them presently.Have all in readiness to sail.
I wish to fetch some of my belongings--all within the bungalow are dead."No command could have better suited the sailor.
Without a word he turned and fled toward the jungle.
Von Horn walked quickly to the workshop.The door hung open.Through the dark interior he strode straight to the opposite door which let upon the court of mystery.
On a nail driven into the door frame hung a heavy bull whip.
The doctor took it down as he raised the strong bar which held the door.Then he stepped through into the moonlit inner campong--the bull whip in his right hand, a revolver in his left.
A half dozen misshapen monsters roved restlessly about the hard packed earth of the pen.The noise of the battle in the adjoining enclosure had aroused them from slumber and awakened in their half formed brains vague questionings and fears.At sight of von Horn several of them rushed for him with menacing growls, but a swift crack of the bull whip brought them to a sudden realization of the identity of the intruder, so that they slunk away, muttering and whining in rage.
Von Horn passed quickly to the low shed in which the remainder of the eleven were sleeping.With vicious cuts from the stinging lash he lay about him upon the sleeping things.Roaring and shrieking in pain and anger the creatures stumbled to their feet and lumbered awkwardly into the open.Two of them turned upon their tormentor, but the burning weapon on their ill protected flesh sent them staggering back out of reach, and in another moment all were huddled in the center of the campong.
As cattle are driven, von Horn drove the miserable creatures toward the door of the workshop.At the threshold of the dark interior the frightened things halted fearfully, and then as von Horn urged them on from behind with his cruel whip they milled as cattle at the entrance to a strange corral.
Again and again he urged them for the door, but each time they turned away, and to escape the whip beat and tore at the wall of the palisade in a vain effort to batter it from their pathway.Their roars and shrieks were almost deafening as von Horn, losing what little remained of his scant self-control, dashed among them laying to right and left with the stern whip and the butt of his heavy revolver.
Most of the monsters scattered and turned back into the center of the enclosure, but three of them were forced through the doorway into the workshop, from the darkness of which they saw the patch of moonlight through the open door upon the opposite side.Toward this they scurried as von Horn turned back into the court of mystery for the others.
Three more herculean efforts he made before he beat the last of the creatures through the outer doorway of the workshop into the north campong.
Among the age old arts of the celestials none is more strangely inspiring than that of medicine.Odd herbs and unspeakable things when properly compounded under a favorable aspect of the heavenly bodies are potent to achieve miraculous cures, and few are the Chinamen who do not brew some special concoction of their own devising for the lesser ills which beset mankind.
Sing was no exception in this respect.In various queerly shaped, bamboo covered jars he maintained a supply of tonics, balms and lotions.His first thought when he had made Professor Maxon comfortable upon the couch was to fetch his pet nostrum, for there burned strong within his yellow breast the same powerful yearning to experiment that marks the greatest of the profession to whose mysteries he aspired.
Though the hideous noises from the inner campong rose threateningly, the imperturbable Sing left the bungalow and passed across the north campong to the little lean-to that he had built for himself against the palisade that separated the north enclosure from the court of mystery.
Here he rummaged about in the dark until he had found the two phials he sought.The noise of the monsters upon the opposite side of the palisade had now assumed the dimensions of pandemonium, and through it all the Chinaman heard the constant crack that was the sharp voice of the bull whip.
He had completed his search and was about to return to the bungalow when the first of the monsters emerged into the north campong from the workshop.At the door of his shack Sing Lee drew back to watch, for he knew that behind them some one was driving these horribly grotesque creatures from their prison.
