Only when all motion of the writhing body had ceased for ever did Wilson relax his grip; then, as he staggered to his feet, a red mist swam before his eyes, and he fell, swooning, across the corpse of his hideous opponent. When consciousness returned he found the inventor kneeling by his side, endeavouring to staunch the gaping wound in his arm, from which he had withdrawn the knife. “That was a narrow shave,” he said, as Wilson attempted to sit up. “It was,” the engineer returned; “he almost had me, the brute!” and he shuddered. Rising with the help of his friend, he moved down the beach and got aboard. “Now for your wound,” Garth said, and, ripping up the sleeve of Wilson’s jacket, he skilfully dressed and bandaged the gash. “Where are Haverly and Seymour?” he questioned, when the engineer was feeling somewhat more comfortable. “They went off to find you and Mervyn,” was the reply. Continuing, Wilson told him how Seymour had returned, and all that had befallen the _Seal_ since. “Great Scott!” Hilton ejaculated, “you’ve had a marvellous escape. I don’t feel easy about that saurian though. The old gentleman may take it into his head to turn up again, and we can’t expect the mist to be on hand a second time. However, there’s no need to worry about that until he comes.” “How did you manage to escape?” the engineer asked. “It’s too long a story to tell you now,” Hilton answered. “I’m just dying for a few hours’ sleep so, if you feel fit enough to keep watch, I’ll slip below for a time. Call me at once should anything turn up,” he added, and, turning, left the turret. A short rest, followed by a bath, quickly restored the inventor’s vitality. Re-entering the wheelhouse, he found that Wilson had spread an appetising meal upon the lockers. “I thought it best to bring the grub up here,” the engineer explained, “so that we can keep a look-out while we eat.” “Quite right, old man,” Garth returned, and at once fell to. For a while they ate in silence, then, at a question from his friend, Hilton told his story. “No doubt Seymour explained how Mervyn was carted off?” he began interrogatively, “and how we scrambled down into the valley after him?” Wilson nodded. “Well,” Hilton continued, “we soon decided that the only course open to us was to follow the trail of the Triceratops, on the chance of Mervyn being pitched off the brute’s back. We had just started when, close at hand, came a chorus of howls, as though a whole menagerie of wolves were upon our track. Turning, we made for the valley again. Seymour got safely in, but I tripped over a fungus and fell; something caught me a crack on the head, and for a time I knew no more.