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Rh very tired. In a few moments I was asleep. How long I remained so, I do not know, but it must have been for several hours, for when I awoke it was night and I was alone.

"'Warburton!' I cried huskily, a great horror clutching at my heart. 'Warburton!' But no voice answered me. Gradually the truth dawned upon me. Warburton had deserted. He had followed the Swahilis. I was now quite alone, yet not entirely alone either, for I still had my dog with me, a great faithful Dane. I was reminded of his presence even as the full force of my comrade's desertion fell upon me, for he came and shoved his cold, damp nose into my face.

"Well, that night was a night of terrors, and only by a miracle was my life preserved. Hour after hour I lay and listened in indescribable fear to the thousands of vicious voices of the wild. The very air seemed alive, and the blackness was filled with myriads of gleaming, shining eyes. A cold sweat broke out on my body and I succumbed to the terrors of the forest. And all night long the great Dane kept watch over me."

Colonel Mowbray lapsed into silence and for some moments neither spoke. The spell of the African jungle seemed to have fallen over the room.

From the alleys the jabbering of Hindi porters and Arab merchants still filtered faintly to their ears. Somewhere down below, Watson, the club accountant, was crooning a well-known song. But under the prevailing conditions the words sounded strangely weird and uncanny.