The splendid fête went on, and the music of the orchestra and the sounds of flying feet drowned the shrieks of mortal peril that arose from the bear pit.
It seemed as if Charley Bonair and Berenice Vining, both victims of some mysterious enemy, must perish for want of a helping hand in this hour of terrible danger.
It must have ended thus in speedy death, had not the tumult of the bear pit been overheard at the small cottage near by, where the zoo keeper and his wife made their home.
The woman, a lighter sleeper than the man, had been half aroused by the sound of Berenice’s piercing shrieks.
She raised her head from the pillow and listened intently for a moment, and cold chills of terror ran down her spine at the agony of those fearful cries, as of one in mortal peril.
“Oh, surely there’s murder being done somewhere very close,” she groaned aloud, and now thoroughly aroused, proceeded to shake her husband awake.
“Wake up, wake up, Sam Cline; don’t lay there snoring like a pig, when somebody’s getting killed, sure! Wake, wake, wake!” she exclaimed, and to expedite the awakening, she sprinkled his face with cold water, which soon had the desired effect.
“What’s broke loose Mandy, hey?” he exclaimed, in bewilderment, and she answered:
“Sam, there’s been the most terrible screams coming up about the zoo, and now I can hear everything there roused up and making the most fearful din—enough to split your ears open. Listen, don’t you hear it yourself?”
“I’d be stone-deaf sure if I didn’t hear all that racket! Suthin’ dreadful must ’a’ happened, sure! I’d better dress and go up and see!” he answered, hurrying into his clothing.