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From the jungle at his back fierce bloodshot eyes glared from beneath shaggy
overhanging brows upon him.
Little monkeys in the tree-tops chattered and scolded, and from the distance of
the inland forest came the scream of a leopard.
But still John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, stood deaf and unseeing, suffering the
pangs of keen regret for the opportunity that he had wasted because he had been
so gullible as to place credence in a single statement of the first lieutenant of his
arch-enemy.
"I have at least," he thought, "one consolation--the knowledge that Jane is safe in
London. Thank Heaven she, too, did not fall into the clutches of those villains."
Behind him the hairy thing whose evil eyes had been watching him as a cat
watches a mouse was creeping stealthily toward him.
Where were the trained senses of the savage ape-man?
Where the acute hearing?
Where the uncanny sense of scent?
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