"Ollendorffian beggar!" said Montgomery. "You'll bleed and weep if you don't look out."
"He has five fingers; he is a five-man like me," said the Ape Man.
"Come along, Prendick," said Montgomery, taking my arm, and I went on with him.
The Satyr and the Ape Man stood watching us and making other remarks to each other.
"He says nothing," said the Satyr. "Men have voices."
"Yesterday he asked me of things to eat," said the Ape Man. "He did not know." Then they spoke inaudible things, and I heard the Satyr laughing.
It was on our way back that we came upon the dead rabbit. The red body of the wretched little beast was rent to pieces, many of the ribs stripped white, and the backbone indisputably gnawed.
At that Montgomery stopped. "Good God!" said he, stooping down and picking up some of the crushed vertebræ to examine them more closely. "Good God!" he repeated, "what can this mean?"
"Some carnivore of yours has remembered its old habits," I said, after a pause. "This backbone has been bitten through."
He stood staring, with his face white and his lip pulled askew. "I don't like this," he said slowly.
"I saw something of the same kind," said I, "the first day I came here."
"The devil you did! What was it?"
"A rabbit with its head twisted off."
"The day you came here?"
"The day I came here. In the undergrowth, at
110
