"Luata!" she exclaimed. "How came you here?"
Bradley shrugged. "Here I am," he said; "but the thing now is to get out of here—both of us."
The girl shook her head. "It cannot be," she stated sadly.
"That is what I thought when they dropped me into the Blue Place of Seven Skulls," replied Bradley. "Can't be done. I did it.—Here! You're mussing up the floor something awful, you." This last to the dead Wieroo as he stooped and dragged the corpse to the central shaft, where he raised it to the aperture and let it slip into the tube. Then he picked up the head and tossed it after the body. "Don't be so glum," he admonished the former as he carried it toward the well; "smile!"
"But how can he smile?" questioned the girl, a half-puzzled, half-frightened look upon her face. "He is dead."
"That's so," admitted Bradley, "and I suppose he does feel a bit cut up about it."
The girl shook her head and edged away from the man—toward the door.
"Come!" said the Englishman. "We've got to get out of here. If you don't know a better way than the river, it's the river then."
The girl still eyed him askance. "But how could he smile when he was dead?"
Bradley laughed aloud. "I thought we English were supposed to have the least sense of humor of any people in the world," he cried; "but now I've found one human being who hasn't any. Of course you don't know half I'm saying; but don't worry, little girl; I'm not going to hurt you, and if I can get you out of here, I'll do it."