That blind shot in the dark, that long carrying of a burden under which he had sweated, though his father had helped in the task; that sudden light of the match the latter had struck as they lifted a man’s body for the last time to cast it down a rocky gully that reeked with a strange, wild scent--the man who had fired the shot turned sick as the match burned out, for, in its flickering light, he had seen the face that would not leave his memory. In his amazed and horrified recognition of the man who had been his friend, he might even then have tried to save him, but his very start of astonishment sent the body the faster into that black gully. What happened next he scarcely knew. It was all a dream of mad panic, with himself and Erceldonne flying through the night till dawn came and found them in their boat. There was no one on watch on the deserted deck, not even Mattel knew when they returned, careful body-servant though he was. It had taken all Raimond Erle’s nerve to put on his night-clothes and lie down on his bed. He had been acting, acting ever since, except for those few minutes alone with the woman who had risen as if from the dead to balk him. He had feigned nothing there, only given rein to his fury till, with a last jerk of his wrist, his work was done. And he was tired of feigning now. “Listen!” he said, with outspoken brutality, “once for all. If you so much as name him to me again, I’m done with you. You can sink or swim, as you like. I will never have him spoken of in my hearing.” For answer, a girl’s voice rang out from a shut cabin near-by, high and shrill as voices are in delirious pain. “Brian!” it called. “Brian, where are you? Heriot, Heriot!” For a moment the man trembled, and then the very rage of hell came over him, that it was Beryl who called on Heriot and not Andria. So it had been for her sake that Heriot was on the island! For a moment he grinned like an angry dog; and then he saw the servants gazing at him in scared amazement, and forced himself to laugh. “Let her call,” he said to his father, in the English they could not understand. “She’s got to call louder yet to wake the dead!” CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEATH-TRAP. In the wild panic that had overtaken her, Salome ran on and on, crashing in bewilderment through the thick scrub without knowing or caring where she was going. Fat as she was, she got over the ground with marvelous speed, till she tripped on a tough vine and fell sprawling. The jar and shock brought back her senses. At first she shook where she lay, lest the beast she had seen might leap on her and tear her life out, not caring if she were black or white. But as the minutes passed and nothing stirred anywhere, the stout colored woman scrambled up, and stood quivering and panting.