Out of the deep shade ambled a huge unwieldy figure. It looked like a giant armed with a club. It was too big for a native: it was an enormous ape.
In a trice Denbigh and his companion dodged behind a tree; but quick though they were, the movement had not escaped the notice of the animal. Uttering a shrill cry, the ape bounded towards their place of concealment.
Denbigh's first impulse was to fly, but calmer counsels prevailed. Dropping on one knee, he held his improvised spear pointed towards the enemy, the butt planted firmly into the ground.
As well might a dog try conclusions with a motor-car. The ape's muscular hand gripped the pole and wrenched it from the sub's grasp, while Denbigh's endeavour to retain his hold resulted in his being thrown prostrate at the creature's feet.
Before the luckless man could realize his position there was a vivid flash and a sharp report, quickly followed by another and another. O'Hara had fired point-blank at the animal's head.
The next instant Denbigh was pinned under the lifeless body of his antagonist, for a chance-directed shot had struck the ape in the eye, and had penetrated the brain.
"Hurt?" asked the Irishman anxiously, as he assisted Denbigh to regain his feet.
"Am I?" asked the sub blankly.
"If you don't know I suppose no one else does," rejoined O'Hara.
"I thought the brute had me that time. Hulloa! where's my compass?"