"But one has sinned," said I. "Him I will kill, whenever I may meet him. When I say to you, "That is he," see that you fall upon him. And now I will go to the men and women who are assembled together."
For a moment the opening of the hut was blackened by the exit of the Dog Man. Then I followed and stood up, almost in the exact spot where I had been when I had heard Moreau and his staghound pursuing me. But now it was night, and all the miasmatic ravine about me was black, and beyond, instead of a green sunlit slope, I saw a red fire before which hunched grotesque figures moved to and fro. Further were the thick trees, a bank of black fringed above with the black lace of the upper branches. The moon was just riding up on the edge of the ravine, and like a bar across its face drove the spire of vapour that was for ever streaming from the fumaroles of the island.
"Walk by me," said I, nerving myself, and side by side we walked down the narrow way, little heed of the dim things that peered at us out of the huts.
None about the fire attempted to salute me. Most of them disregarded me—ostentatiously. I looked round for the Hyæna-Swine, but he was not there. Altogether, perhaps, twenty of the Beast Folk squatted, staring into the fire or talking to one another.
"He is dead, he is dead, the Master is dead," said the voice of the Ape Man to the right of me. "The House of Pain—there is no House of Pain."
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