One by one they came lumbering into the moonlight until Sing had counted eleven, and then, after them, came a white man, bull whip and revolver in hand.It was von Horn.The equatorial moon shone full upon him--there could be no mistake.The Chinaman saw him turn and lock the workshop door; saw him cross the campong to the outer gate; saw him pass through toward the jungle, closing the gate.
Of a sudden there was a sad, low moaning through the surrounding trees; dense, black clouds obscured the radiant moon; and then with hideous thunder and vivid flashes of lightning the tempest broke in all its fury of lashing wind and hurtling deluge.It was the first great storm of the breaking up of the monsoon, and under the cover of its darkness Sing Lee scurried through the monster filled campong to the bungalow.
Within he found the young man bathing Professor Maxon's head as he had directed him to do.
"All gettee out," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the court of mystery."Eleven devils.
Plenty soon come bung'low.What do?"
Number Thirteen had seen von Horn's extra bull whip hanging upon a peg in the living room.For answer he stepped into that room and took the weapon down.
Then he returned to the professor's side.
Outside the frightened monsters groped through the blinding rain and darkness in search of shelter.
Each vivid lightning flash, and bellowing of booming thunder brought responsive cries of rage and terror from their hideous lips.It was Number Twelve who first spied the dim light showing through the bungalow's living room window.With a low guttural to his companions he started toward the building.Up the low steps to the verandah they crept.Number Twelve peered through the window.
He saw no one within, but there was warmth and dryness.
His little knowledge and lesser reasoning faculties suggested no thought of a doorway.With a blow he shattered the glass of the window.Then he forced his body through the narrow aperture.At the same moment a gust of wind sucking through the broken panes drew open the door, and as Number Thirteen, warned by the sound of breaking glass, sprang into the living room he was confronted by the entire horde of misshapen beings.
His heart went out in pity toward the miserable crew, but he knew that his life as well as those of the two men in the adjoining room depended upon the force and skill with which he might handle the grave crisis which confronted them.He had seen and talked with most of the creatures when from time to time they had been brought singly into the workshop that their creator might mitigate the wrong he had done by training the poor minds with which he had endowed them to reason intelligently.
A few were hopeless imbeciles, unable to comprehend more than the rudimentary requirements of filling their bellies when food was placed before them; yet even these were endowed with superhuman strength; and when aroused battled the more fiercely for the very reason of their brainlessness.Others, like Number Twelve, were of a higher order of intelligence.They spoke English, and, after a fashion, reasoned in a crude sort of way.These were by far the most dangerous, for as the power of comparison is the fundamental principle of reasoning, so they were able to compare their lot with that of the few other men they had seen, and with the help of von Horn to partially appreciate the horrible wrong that had been done them.