Now Cliff peered into a small chamber, and gasped in
sudden horror, his eyes staring unwinkingly at a spectacle incredibly
pitiful. Here were the passengers of the _Ariel_, whitely naked, and lying in
little groups on the cold stone floor, huddled together for warmth. Their faces turned toward Darrell as he stood in the doorway, but
there was no recognition in the vacuous eyes, no thought, no
intelligence, and little life in the wide-mouthed stares. It seemed as
though their souls had been drained from their bodies with their
blood. Sickened, Cliff turned away, cursing his own helplessness to aid them,
cursing Leon Corio who was responsible for their plight. Black wrath
gripped him as he moved on. Again the corridor branched, and again he kept to the right. Suddenly
he halted, ears straining. He heard the sound of a voice--the hollow
voice of Corio! It came faintly but clearly from a room at the end of
the passageway. Cliff went forward slowly. "And so, my dear," Corio was saying, "we entered into a pact with
the--Master, a pact sealed with blood. In exchange for our lives we
three were to bring other humans to this island for the feasting of
the dead-alive. Every third month each of us must return with our
cargo when the moon is full; and since we come back on alternating
months, they have a constant supply of fresh blood. Usually some of
our captives live from full moon to full moon before they become like
those of the galley--the undead. Some of these we waken when it suits
our fancy; they are not like the Masters; they awaken only when we
call them--we three or the Masters. "More than life they give us for what we do. Centuries ago pirates
used this island for refuge. They--died--and they left their treasure
in this castle. It lies in the room where the Masters lie; and we
three receive payment in gold and gems. Tonight I receive my pay, and
tomorrow I leave on the _Ariel_--and you go with me!" Cliff heard Vilma answer, and even while his heart leaped with relief,
he marveled at the cool scorn in her voice. "So I go with you, do I? I'd rather climb the stairs with the rest of
your victims than have anything to do with you--you monster! When
Cliff Darrell finds you----"

"Darrell!" Corio's voice was a frozen sneer. "He'll do nothing! I'll
find _him_--and he'll wish he could climb the stairs of blood! As for
you, you'll go with me, and like it! A drop of my blood in your veins,
and you will belong to the Master, as I do. We shall attend to that;
but first there is something else--more pleasant." His words fell to
an indistinguishable purr. Still moving stealthily, Cliff hastened forward. Suddenly Vilma
screamed; and he launched himself madly across the remaining distance,
stood crouching at the threshold. Vilma lay on an ancient bed, her wrists and ankles bound with leather
thongs drawn about the four tall bed-posts. Only the torn remnants of
her under-garments covered the rounded contours of her body, and Corio
crouched over her, caressing the pink flesh. Vilma writhed beneath his
touch. *       *       *       *       *

Cliff growled deep in his throat as he sprang. Corio spun around and
leaped aside, but he was too slow to escape Cliff's powerful lunge. One hand closed on his thin neck, and the other, a rock-like fist,
made a bloody ruin of his mouth. Howling with pain, Corio tried to
sink his teeth in Cliff's arm. Cliff flung him aside, following with the easy glide of a boxer. Corio
crawled to his feet, cringing, dodging before the nemesis that stalked
him. Again Cliff leaped, and Corio, yellow with fear, darted around
the bed and ran wildly into the hallway. At the door Cliff checked
himself, reason holding him. Corio could elude him with ease in this
labyrinth of passages; and his first concern was Vilma's safety. He returned to the bed. Vilma looked up at him with such relief and
thankfulness on her face that Cliff, with a little choked cry, flung
himself to his knees beside the bed and kissed her hungrily. For
moments their lips clung; then Cliff straightened shakily, trying to
laugh. "We've got to get out of here, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not afraid
of Corio, but he knows things about this place that we don't know. After you're safe on the yacht, I'll come back and get him." He looked around for something with which to cut her bonds. On the
wall above the bed were crossed a pair of murderous-looking cutlasses. Seizing one of these, Cliff wrenched it from its fastenings and drew
it through the cords.... She stood beside him, free. "Your clothing----" Cliff began, his eyes on her almost-nude body. She blushed and pointed mutely to a heap of rags on the floor. Her
eyes flamed wrathfully. "He--he ripped them from me!" The muscles of Cliff's jaws knotted, and he scowled as he surveyed the
room for a drape or hanging to cover her. For the first time he really
saw the place. All the lavish splendor of royalty had been expended
on this chamber. It might have been the bedroom of a king, except that
the ancient furnishings belonged to no particular period; were, in
fact, the loot of raids extended over centuries. Yet despite its
splendor, everything was repulsive, cloaked with the same air of
unearthly gloom that hovered about the galley. He moved toward an intricately woven tapestry; but Vilma checked him,
shuddering with revulsion. "No, Cliff--it's too much like grave clothes. Everything about this
place makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather stay as I am than touch any of
it!" Cliff nodded slowly. "Let's go then." They hurried through the corridors toward the stairway, with Cliff
holding the cutlas in readiness. As they passed the room in which lay
the _Ariel's_ passengers, he tried to divert Vilma's attention, but
she looked in as though hypnotized. "I saw them before," she whispered. "It's awful." As they started up the stairway to the great hall, Cliff took the
lead. He moved with utmost caution. "It doesn't seem right," he said uneasily. "We should hear from
Corio." At that moment they did hear from him--literally. From somewhere in
the maze of tunnels came the sound of his accursed horn--the note of
sleep! It swirled insidiously about their heads, numbing their senses. Cliff felt his stride falter, saw Vilma stumble, and he hurled himself
forward furiously, gripping her arm. "Hurry!" he shouted, striving to pierce the fog of sleep. "We've _got_
to get out! Damn him!" Vilma rallied for an instant, and they reached the top of the stairs. On--across that wide, wide room, each step a struggle.... On while the
droning sound floated languidly through every nerve cell.... On--till
their muscles could no longer move, and they sagged to the hard stone,
asleep. *       *       *       *       *

Moments later Cliff opened his eyes to meet the hellish glare of Leon
Corio. Corio smiled thinly. "So--you awaken. Good! I would have you know the fate I have planned
for you. You see this?" He held the cutlas high above Darrell's throat
like the blade of a guillotine.