none of my affair. However, it seemed that Ysabel feared him.
My friend Luigi, by the way, had become enamored of the dainty Portuguese girl, and was making swift love to her daily.
And de Montour sat in his cell and reviewed his ghastly deeds until he battered the bars with his bare hands.
And Don Florenzo wandered about the castle grounds like a dour Mephistopheles.
And the other guests rode and quarreled and drank.
And Gola slithered about, eyeing me if if always on the point of imparting momentous information. What wonder if my nerves became rasped to the shrieking point?
Each day the natives grew surlier and more and more sullen and intractable.
One night, not long before the full of the moon, I entered the dungeon where de Montour sat.
He looked up quickly.
"You dare much, coming to me in the night."
I shrugged my shoulders, seating myself.
A small barred window let in the night scents and sounds of Africa.
"Hark to the native drums," I said. "For the past week they have sounded almost incessantly."
De Montour assented.
"The natives are restless. Methinks 'tis deviltry they are planning. Have you noticed that Carlos is much among them?"
"No," I answered, "but 'tis like there will be a break between him and Luigi. Luigi is paying court to Ysabel."
So we talked, when suddenly de Montour became silent and moody, answering only in monosyllables.
The moon rose and peered in at the barred windows. De Montour's face was illuminated by its beams.
And then the hand of horror grasped me. On the wall behind de Montour appeared a shadow, a shadow clearly defined of a wolf's head!
At the same instant de Montour felt its influence. With a shriek he bounded from his stool.
He pointed fiercely, and as with trembling hands I slammed and bolted the door behind me, I felt him hurl his weight against it. As I fled up the stairway I heard a wild raving and battering at the iron-bound door. But with all the werewolf's might the great door held.
As I entered my room, Gola dashed in and gasped out the tale he had been keeping for days.
I listened, incredulously, and then dashed forth to find Dom Vincente.
I was told that Carlos had asked him to accompany him to the village to arrange a sale of slaves.
My informer was Don Florenzo of Seville, and when I gave him a brief outline of Gola's tale; he accompanied me.
Together we dashed through the castle gate, flinging a word to the guards, and down the landing toward the village.
Dom Vincente, Dom Vincente, walk with care, keep sword loosened in its sheath! Fool, fool, to walk in the night with Carlos, the traitor!
They were nearing the village when we caught up with them. "Dom Vincente!" I exclaimed; "return instantly to the castle. Carlos is selling you into the hands of the natives! Gola has told me that he lusts for your wealth and for Ysabel! A terrified native babbled to him of booted footprints near the places where the woodcutters were murdered, and Carlos has made the blacks believe that the slayer was you! Tonight the natives were to rise and slay every man in the castle
(Continued on page 570)
