The next instant, however, he inwardly flung a savage curse at this weakness of his. Afraid? Why should he be afraid because this was Guy Oxford? True, the man had solved many a mystery that other investigators, the best to be had, had given up as insoluble; the powers of which this man sometimes showed himself the master seemed well-nigh uncanny; but, bah, what had he, Cuthbert Griswold, to fear from the presence, mysterious though that presence was, of Guy Oxford here on the Island of Flang? Mysterious? But why should there be anything mysterious about it? He was letting his imagination run riot. The Queen Mab and Guy Oxford would have come whether he, Griswold, had ever set foot on the island or not. It had just happened, that was all. But why had they come to Flang?
And then another fear, a fear sudden and terrible, went through the heart of the murderer. The blood! The blood there in that spot in which he had killed Chantrell! If he had only known, he would have removed that. But he had never dreamed. And the body too! But, then, one would have to look closely to see it; and why should anyone do that? The blood—but what on earth was the matter with him, anyway? For he could explain that. Explain it easily. Yes, that would be his explanation. What a fool to let such a fear get him! But would it work? Of course it would work—unless this cursed Guy Oxford were to place some of Chantrell's blood under the microscope. But why should Guy Oxford ever do that?
But the Queen Mab. Why had the Queen Mab come here to Flang?
"This is indeed a surprize, Mr. Oxford," said Cuthbert Griswold, "meeting you here in this God-forsaken sea, on this Island of Flang."
"The cruise of the Queen Mab," returned Oxford, "is a purely scientific one, and scientists, you know, sometimes visit strange places."
"Yes, yes; of course! Too bad, though," Griswold smiled, "that we haven't a mystery here for you to solve. But there is no mystery here."
"No, Mr. Griswold; there is no mystery here—to be solved."
Griswold chuckled to himself. Another joke, and wasn't it a good one, too? No mystery here. Ha, ha, if Guy Oxford only knew! Wasn't it a joke, though? Too bad he couldn't share it with them! It was a joke indeed. For Guy Oxford, as the murderer was soon to learn, did know.
"However," Griswold added, "if you had been here about noon, you would have seen murder done."
What a strange look was that which the captain flashed at Oxford! Strange, too, was that expression which, for a fleeting moment, Griswold saw in those strange black eyes of the scientist.
"Oh, don't misunderstand me, gentlemen!" Griswold laughed. "The victim was Buck, a wolf-dog, father to Pluto here. Went mad, and I had to kill the poor brute."
"Where," Captain Spar asked rather quickly, "did that happen?"
"Over there," replied Griswold, waving a hand, "at the eastern end of the island."
"I should like," Oxford said, "to visit that spot."
"That spot?"
The other nodded.
"Of course," said Griswold. "At once?"
"At once. Will you guide us to it?"
"With pleasure," Cuthbert Griswold told him with an inward shiver. "But—but why, Mr. Oxford, are you so interested in that spot? There is nothing there but blood."
"What did you do with the body?"
"Ah, I see; you are interested in rabies, as well as in all those scientific subjects—and in crime."
