Her master’s heart “beat quick and thick, like a madman on a drum,” as he stood in the scorching courtyard. No one could get to the big house without crossing the paved yard, which no one should do. Raimond, with his white sleeve rolled up till an ugly stain was hidden, had carried Beryl down to the yacht. Her fall had stunned her, and she hung heavy like the dead in his arms. What he had begun in Andria’s room the crazy man and his jaguars would finish, when the house lay empty and deserted, with no one to bar the doors. Erceldonne turned with a sharp word as the three black servants came out, each with a bundle on her head. Something had quieted Chloe and Amelia Jane, or else it was the dreaded presence of their master that lent speed to their feet as they hurried down the path before him. Salome had never opened her lips as she gathered up her clothes. She walked before Egerton with a slowness that maddened him, for he dared not precede her. The great door of the house stood open as they passed, and she saw it. What man in his senses would go away and leave his house open, for the things that haunted the place to ravage? Yet she said nothing as they went on in the blazing sun. There was not a sound anywhere; not a breeze even, when they reached the corner of the path and saw the open bay before them, with the boat waiting at the shore and Chloe and Amelia Jane already in it in their haste to be gone. Yet even Chloe and ’Melia Jane leaped to their feet at the sudden strident howl that waked the noonday hush. They had heard that cry before; in the night it had broken their dreams, but in the broad daylight it brought the terror of death on them. From far up behind the house it rang, something between a wail and a scream, but full of a hideous menace, a ravening fierceness. Before Erceldonne could draw breath, it seemed as though hell had broken loose behind him. Sharp, snarling cries ran under that awful, ceaseless wailing, and each second were louder and louder. “Run!” cried the man, with white lips, feeling in his pocket for the revolver that was not there. “Run!” But Salome, like a black statue, stood in his way. “Dey smells de white blood,” she said politely. “De meat fur de jaguars’ wedding.” With a furious word, Erceldonne sprang past her. He was brave enough, but not for the terror that runs scenting its prey in daylight. He tripped and fell headlong over the bundle she threw in front of him, but before she could seize him he was up on his feet and running wildly. In the hideous uproar that came nearer and nearer, Salome laughed.