At once the pursuers became watchful. What card was Nordhu about to play? they wondered. What devilish trick was he about to perform? The priest’s face puckered up into a savage grin as he noted the hesitation of his enemies. “Why do ye not come on?” he cried ironically; “art afraid? I have waited to bid ye farewell, thinking perchance ye might grieve did I leave you without.” Seymour’s face was distorted with fury as he gazed upon the priest. Scarcely could he control the mad passion which bade him rush forward and grip the grinning fiend. But what was that hole in the floor? What was the lever? That Nordhu was about to spring some diabolical trick upon them was certain, and the thought checked the baronet’s murderous desire. So for a space they remained, pursuers and fugitive glaring at each other with a world of hatred in their eyes, yet neither making a move. Then once more the priest spoke: “Since ye will not join me, I will go. Fare ye well until I return with my warriors to destroy ye.” He laughed mockingly, and at that Seymour, losing control of his temper, leapt forward. Quick as thought Nordhu flung over the lever beside him, and at once, from the roof of the tunnel, a cataract of liquid light began to fall, plunging into the hole in the floor. “Wilt follow now?” snarled the voice of the priest above the boom and splash of the falling light. “Jupiter!” gasped the Yankee. “Checkmate!” Ay! checkmate it was! for who dared attempt to pass that gleaming curtain after Chenobi’s warning as to its deadly power. Nordhu had played his card and played it well. With a laugh of triumph he turned and strode down the tunnel, leaving his pursuers standing helpless and amazed at his handiwork. “I almost feel inclined to risk it,” growled Seymour, as the sound of the priest’s footsteps died away. “You must not,” cried Mervyn excitedly; “remember what the king said, as----” But there was no need for the scientist to reiterate Chenobi’s warning. While yet the words trembled on his lips the fact that the Ayuti had not exaggerated the terrible power of the liquid light was brought to the notice of all in a fearful manner. Released from the fascination of the priest, the hounds had again grown restless, baying clamorously, yet not daring to venture near the curtain of falling light. Suddenly, while Mervyn spoke, from far away came a cry, faint, but easily recognisable as the voice of Nordhu. At the sound one of the dogs made a rash spring forward, as though he would have plunged through the cataract on the trail of the priest. Over the brink of the hole he leapt, his fore-paws outstretched, but touched the fringe of the falling liquid; then he was shrivelled up into a shapeless black mass, and was swept downward by the cataract. “Great Heaven!” the scientist cried: “poor brute!” The other hounds, awed by the fate of their fellow, drew back whining.