The tattered, stained garment that Bhag held was the cloak that Adele Leamington had worn!
For a second Bhag glared at the man who he knew was his enemy, and then, dropping the cloak, he shrank back toward his quarters, his teeth bared.
Three times Michael’s automatic spat, and the great, man-like thing disappeared in a flash—and the door closed with a click.
Knebworth had been a witness of the scene. It was he who ran forward and picked up the cloak that the ape had dropped.
“Yes, that was hers,” he said huskily, and a horrible thought chilled him.
Michael had opened the door of the den, and, pistol in hand, dashed through the opening. Knebworth dared not follow. He stood petrified, waiting, and then Michael reappeared.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
“Nothing?” asked Jack Knebworth in a whisper. “Thank God!”
“Bhag has gone—I think I may have hit him; there is a trail of blood, but I may not be responsible for that. He had been shot recently,” he pointed to stains on the floor. “He wasn’t shot when I saw him last.”
“Have you seen him before to-night?”