Bell jerked his head about. Bars of thick wood, cemented into heavy timbers at top and bottom. A building that was solid wall on three sides, and the fourth was bars. A white man in it, unshaven, haggard, ragged, filthy. And on the floor of the cage.... There had been another such cage on a _fazenda_ back toward Rio. Bell had looked into it, and had shot the gibbering Thing that had been its occupant, as an act of pure mercy. But this man had been through horrors and yet was sane. "Don't look," said Bell sharply to Paula. He went close. The figure pressed against the bars, whining. And suddenly it stopped its fawning. "The devil!" said the white man in the cage. "What in hell are you doing here, Bell? Has that fiend caught you too?" * * * * * "Oh, my God!" gasped Bell. He went white with a cold rage. He'd known this man before. A Secret Service man--one of the seven who had vanished. "How's this place opened? I'll let you out." "It may be dangerous," said the white man with a ghastly grin. "I'm one of The Master's little victims. I've been trying to work a little game in hopes of getting within arm's reach of him. How'd you get here? Has he got you too?" "I burned the damned town last night," snarled Bell, "and crashed up after it. Where's that door?" He found it, a solid mass of planks with a log bar fitted in such a way that it could not possibly be opened from within. He dragged it wide. The white man came out, holding to his self-control with an obvious effort. "I want to dance and sing because I'm out of there," he told Bell queerly, "but I know you've done me no good. I've been fed The Master's little medicine. I've been in that cage for weeks." Bell, quivering with rage, handed him a revolver. "I'm going to get some supplies and stuff and try to make it to civilization," he said shortly. "If you want to help...." "Hell, yes," said the white man drearily. "I might as well. Number One-Fourteen was here.... He's The Master's little pet, now. Turned traitor. Report it, if you ever get out." "No," said Bell briefly. "He didn't turn." He told in a very few words of the finding of the body of a man who had fallen or been thrown from a plane into the jungle. * * * * * They were moving toward the rows of still standing shacks, then, and faces were beginning to turn toward them, and there was a little stir of apathetic puzzlement at sight of the white man who had been set free. That white man looked suddenly at Paula, and then at Bell.