Against the rear palisade Usula had already put burning torches to his brush pile at half-a-dozen different places. The flames, fanned by a gentle jungle breeze, had leaped almost immediately into a roaring conflagration, before which the dry wood of the palisade crumbled in a shower of ruddy sparks which the wind carried to the thatched roofs of the huts beyond, until in an incredibly short period of time the village was a roaring inferno of flames. And even as Usula had predicted the gate swung open and the west coast blacks swarmed forth in terror toward the jungle. Upon either side of the gateway the Waziri stood, looking for their mistress, but though they waited and watched in silence until no more came from the gateway of the village, and until the interior of the palisade was a seething hell of fire, they saw nothing of her. Long after they were convinced that no human being could remain alive in the village they still waited and hoped; but at last Usula gave up the useless vigil. “She was never there,” he said, “and now we must pursue the blacks and capture some of them, from whom we may learn the whereabouts of Lady Greystoke.” It was daylight before they came upon a small band of stragglers, who were in camp a few miles toward the west. These they quickly surrounded, winning their immediate surrender by promises of immunity in the event that they would answer truthfully the questions that Usula should propound. “Where is Luvini?” demanded Usula, who had learned the name of the leader of the west coast boys from the Europeans the evening before. “We do not know; we have not seen him since We left the village,” replied one of the blacks. “We were some of the slaves of the Arabs, and when we escaped the palisade last night we ran away from the others, for we thought that we should be safer alone than with Luvini, who is even crueller than the Arabs.” “Did you see the white women that he brought to the camp last night?” demanded Usula. “He brought but one white woman,” replied the other. “What did he do with her? Where is she now?” asked Usula. “I do not know. When he brought her he bound her hand and foot and put her in the hut which he occupied near the village gate. We have not seen her since.” Usula turned and looked at his companions. A great fear was in his eyes, a fear that was reflected in the countenances of the others. “Come!” he said, “we shall return to the village. And you will go with us,” he added, addressing the west coast blacks, “and if you have lied to us—” he made a significant movement with his forefinger across his throat. “We have not lied to you,” replied the others. Quickly they retraced their steps toward the ruins of the Arab village, nothing of which was left save a few piles of smoldering embers. “Where was the hut in which the white woman was confined?” demanded Usula, as they entered the smoking ruins.