"Get up," he ordered. "Breakfast will be ready in a minute or two."
I rolled out of bed and heard him go to the rear of the house. He rasped out an order in the local dialect, but there was no reply. He spoke again, harshly. There was still no reply. I heard him fling open a door. Then he exclaimed aloud.
"Arthur! Murray! Come here!"
We went quickly, and into the room in which he was. It was the room assigned to the native girl. Evan was standing over her couch, looking grimly down at the figure lying there.
The dull features of the girl were twisted into an expression of the most horrible fear. It was appalling that such ultimate terror could show itself upon a human face. The eyes were wide and staring, the mouth was drawn back in a voiceless shriek of utter, despairing fright. The hands were clenched so that the nails bit into the flesh of the palms, and the head was oddly askew. The girl was dead.
Evan lifted up her shoulders and the head fell back.
"Neck broken," he said laconically. "The gorilla!"
"Great Heaven!" said Arthur desperately, white as a sheet. "What next? How did he get in here? Alicia!" He ran from the room and called hoarsely.
Alicia's voice answered instantly. "What's the matter?"
"The native girl's dead, killed by the gorilla during the night. Are you safe?"