There was a thump on the floor in the adjoining room as Chester jumped right out of bed.
"Yes—yes—hello!" he called through the partition, dazed for a moment.
"Listen to me," Keith replied. "First strike a light. Then get your gun. There's some one in here. Hurry!"
In less than half a minute Chester emerged from his room with a candle, and as he did so Keith swore, for he saw his own bedroom door was open. He was alone. The black had entered the bungalow by a window in the living-room, and bolted out the same way.
Joan was up now, with a kimono thrown round her shoulders, and as she came from her door Keith noticed that she had her own formidable revolver for emergencies.
"What is it?" she asked tremulously.
"My God!" Chester exclaimed, glancing round the living-room.
The place had been ransacked. Every drawer was open, their contents spread on the floor. And yet, so far as they could see at a glance, the object of the intruder had not been the theft of stores or other things which one would naturally expect natives to take. It looked more as though a systematic search had been made for some definite object.
