Eye that Sees in the Dark

An Eye that Sees in the Dark!

From The Modern Boy magazine, 14 July 1934. Contributed by Keith Hoyt; digitized by Doug Frizzle, May 2013.

SAILORS don't care! Everybody knows that. But there's just one thing that they do care about, and that's fog—they hate it! Fog's bad enough on land, but it's a thousand times worse at sea, particularly in the busy sea-traffic lanes.

Anything which will help the sailor to see through fog is a boon and a blessing indeed. Here's a simple apparatus that is able to feel through it, and send a loud and unmistakable warning when anything is crossing the course on which the ship is slowly moving ahead.

Not only that. It will tell him the direction of every ship all round—even though they may be miles off. And not only ships but rocks, icebergs—any sort of obstruction will send its own signal to this all-seeing "eye."

Actually it consists of a casing something like a searchlight, with a specially shaped mirror at the back. Rays of light, or in this case heat, striking this mirror are reflected forward again, but at the same time they are focused down to a point, always the same. At this point we have the "eye," a little cell called a "photo-electric eye" As soon as the rays strike this cell it wakes up—no it doesn't, for it never sleeps—but it does take extra notice, and sends a signal to the officer on the ship's bridge.

NOW we'll have to step back a bit. You know that the rays of light which come to us from the sun are also rays of heat as well. The rays of light which make all things visible to our eyes also carry rays of heat, though they may be very faint, so faint that you can't notice them. Our friend the photo-electric cell can, though, and he does, instantly.

So long as his mirror looks forward to empty sea and sky there's no change in the heat rays; but if a ship crosses the field of view there is a change. You can imagine easily that the ship is at a different temperature, and it is actually sending out rays of heat, and the electric eye tells us so at once. The funny thing about rays of heat is that they aren't held up by fog as some rays of light are, and that's how this outfit came to be invented. Rays of heat are just a matter of degree; they may be hotter or colder than the average, so our eye gives its signal one way or another.

Inside the body of the apparatus is a pendulum to keep the thing steady in a rough sea, and the whole thing can be moved round and round so as to sweep the horizon.

What sort of a signal does it send? First, it may ring a bell to call attention to any change, and then there will be a pointer on a dial to show hotter or colder. Another dial will give the exact direction from which the signal has come, and probably a third dial may estimate the distance.

How far can this eye see? That depends on how high up it is, but it has worked at fifteen miles!

Jungle Tramps!

Jungle Tramps!

Serial—Part 2 of 12

Completely down and out, CAPTAIN JUSTICE, Gentleman Adventurer, and his Comrades are hopelessly lost—where No White Foot Has Ever Trodden!

Complete by MURRAY ROBERTS

From The Modern Boy magazine, 14 July 1934, Vol. 13, No. 336. Contributed by Keith Hoyt; digitized by Doug Frizzle, May 2012. Link to Part 1.

Five Perilous Parachutes!

FROM east to west, and to the south as far as eye could reach, blazed the vast expanse of tropical sky, cloudless, brilliantly blue. Only in the north was the dazzling vault spanned and barred by a range of colossal mountains that towered in rugged majesty above the unnamed river, the oozy swamps, and matted jungle.

Scarcely a breeze stirred on high; no bird-notes disturbed the hush. It was as though the pitiless African sun had scorched up all jungle and mountain life.

Into this tangled, sinister desolation, this hottest of all the world's wastelands, dropped five laden parachutes, descending slowly through the torrid air.

Africa is a land where fantastic sights abound. Yet surely no stranger spectacle was ever seen, even there, than those five gleaming, umbrellalike objects, floating down into the wilderness with the luckless adventurers—Captain Justice, Professor Flaznagel, Dr. O'Mally, Len Connor, and Midge—dangling therefrom.

Marooned, empty-handed, in the densest wilds of Unknown Africa!

That was the fate meted out to the comrades by their wily and bitter enemy, Xavier Kuponos, the notorious Greco-African gun-runner and smuggler. Clad only in the flimsy pyjamas in which they had been dragged from their tents the previous night, Justice & Co. were being dumped into the jungle, unarmed, and without food or water!

It was a disaster that was as grim as it was swift and unexpected. One, too, that made even the iron-nerved Justice shudder inwardly.

Steely lights glinted in the famous Gentleman Adventurer's eyes as he craned his neck, staring eastwards to where, a mere mote against the blue, Kuponos' passenger plane, out of which they had been dumped, was heading back for home, its fell mission accomplished.

The captain's beard bristled. He clenched his fists in savage impotence as a fresh tide of rage overwhelmed him. For once, Justice was completely helpless. Suspended in mid-air, with death in a hundred guises awaiting him below, he could do nothing yet!

"I will, though!" he gritted, clasping his hands over his head as some protection against the sun. "Kuponos, I'll twist your infernal Greek neck yet!"

Then, as was so typical of the man who had braved the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune all his life, Captain Justice ceased to rail vainly against Fate, and endeavoured to take his bearings as best he could.

Of one thing the world-rover was quite sure—he and his comrades were about to descend into a stretch of the great African jungle that had never been mapped or explored by white men. Kuponos, indeed, had admitted that much just before he flung them off into Space—gloating over the fact that he had heard nothing but bloodcurdling rumours of fierce natives and wild beasts that inhabited this back o' beyond.

"We're lost—cast adrift—and that's all there is to it!" muttered the captain grimly; and his teeth met with a sharp little click as he realised precisely what that sentence meant. He flung a swift, haggard glance around at the other parachutes dotting the sky.

Len Connor, his young wireless operator, was nearest to him; then, fairly close together, hung Dr. O'Mally, the stout and genial Irishman who was his second-in-command, and the diminutive, red-headed Midge. Much farther away, Justice could see the lanky, white-haired figure of Professor Flaznagel, the world-renowned scientist and inventor.

The captain breathed hard, his feeling of utter loss increasing as he gazed at the dangling veteran. For he knew that his old friend must be suffering far worse than anyone.

"Poor old professor! And he's never done a chute-jump before, to my knowledge! Let's hope he makes a good landing and that I can find him before he gets hopelessly lost in this confounded bush below."

Justice, masking his dire forebodings behind an impassive countenance, narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to study the scene closely.

It certainly did not look inviting!

Directly beneath and behind him rolled the jungle in billowing waves of emerald green, purple, gold, and crimson foliage. Mighty palms, themselves throttled by brightly hued vines, reared their crowns above the heads of mahogany, walnut, and huge baobab trees, as though striving to shake off the grip of the parasite creepers. And between these forest giants, lesser trees and shrubs struggled in vain to reach the sunlight.

Not a break anywhere could Justice see, and full well did he know what a landing amid those tortuous branches would mean. It was not until he turned his eyes upon the grasses and swamps dividing jungle and river that a faint hope of escape stirred within him.

True, this dismal stretch, with its patches of reeds and slimy mangrove-trees, twisted and distorted into nightmare shapes, looked scarcely less inhospitable than the jungle itself. But at least he might find space for reasonably safe landing—if only he could manoeuvre clear of the forest's edge.

"Hallo! Ah, good boy, Len!"

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, the captain saw the envelope of Len Connor's parachute crinkle and sag inwards slightly as he deftly manipulated the cords.

By this time the castaways had descended to within a few hundred feet of the treetops, and sharp wind-eddies, swirling across the face of the mountains on the other side of the river, were beginning to take effect. As Justice watched, Len Connor's parachute filled again and floated off at a fresh tangent. It was evident that Len held the same views about crashing amid jungle trees as his leader.

Coolly and cleverly, Justice followed the lad's example, breathing a sigh of thankfulness as, after a while, the fringe of the forest and the mangrove swamps swam sluggishly towards him. He turned cautiously in his harness, half raising an arm to signal Midge and O'Mally. But there was no need.

They, too, had spotted the move, and were quick to copy their comrades. The adventurers held a slim chance now of landing without breaking their necks or limbs, though the hazards against finding each other afterwards were as great as ever.

Justice cupped his hands, filling his lungs for a mighty effort.

"When you land, shout, and keep shouting!" he roared, in a voice that had carried aloft during many an ocean tempest. And O'Mally and Midge must have heard his orders, however faintly, for the ever-cheerful youngster flourished a jaunty hand before resuming operations on his parachute cords.

Flaznagel alone continued his aimless drift, too inexperienced to make any attempt to use the wind-eddies.

Captain Justice groaned as he observed the old professor's plight. It seemed a thousand to one against Flaznagel making the swamps, and the captain's powerful muscles swelled and taughtened in an agony of apprehension. Then he had to drag his eyes away from his luckless friend. His own parachute had entered upon the last stage of its descent, demanding all his attention.

The spreading crest of a baobab, ablaze with trailing orchids, skimmed beneath the captain's dangling legs. His feet ploughed through rustling leaves and again, desperately, he reached for the cord overhead. The chute buckled, bobbed away, then dipped abruptly as a fresh eddy sucked it down. By inches only Justice scraped past a bristling mass of branches, drifted onwards—then dropped.

His impressions of the next few seconds were vague but nerve racking.

Suddenly there came a heavy jerk from above, the crackle of breaking boughs, the tearing rip of fabric. Then another, more violent jolt, that jarred him from head to toe. With his parachute envelope caught up among knotted branches, Justice spun like a top, fumbling as he did so at the buckle of the harness-belt. Somehow, he managed to unfasten it, and then—

Splosh! Letting go all holds, Captain Justice made his landing—into the scummy surface water and soft, reeking mud beneath the mangrove-tree that had snared him.

Meanwhile, Midge was undergoing a whole set of hectic thrills on his own.

Caught less than a hundred feet above the forest-edge by a lustier down-draught than ever, the chirpy, snub-nosed youngster came perilously close to colliding with Dr. O'Mally, who bellowed and gesticulated wildly. But in another second, the same mischievous gust dragged them apart again, and Midge tucked up his legs just in time. A mass of green foliage seemed to engulf him. Then it receded, leaving only a dull green-brown waste of grass and mud.

Midge fell and was dragged along helter-skelter, rolling through reeds swarming with insects, skittering through the mire, bobbing along like a cork on a string. A confused bedlam of crashes, sharp snapping sounds, and what sounded like harsh human yells dinned in his ears, adding to the boy's horror. Water splashed in his face. Something hit him a fearful thwack in the ribs.

Then he bumped against some massive object on the ground and remained there, more dead than alive, while the parachute collapsed and sagged down upon him.

"Oh, my aunt! Ow! Ouch-wu-uff! Rescue!"

"Where's Flaznagel?"

DAZED, bruised, and breathless, scratched and battered all over his wiry body, the red-haired youngster struggled up into a sitting position at length, pushing feebly at the soft, clinging folds that enveloped him. His heart pounded like a steam-hammer, every breath he drew was a torment, and cold chills of fear rippled up and down his spine.

He could see nothing; feel nothing solid except the object on which he squatted, and which he took to be a mossy hummock. But when—with hair-raising suddenness—that "hummock" began to writhe and squirm beneath him. Midge thought his last hour had come.

"Ow! Snakes! Crocodiles! Help!" he yelled.

Then he moved. Terror lent him strength. Madly, frantically, he fought and clawed his way out from under the parachute and its tangle of cords, never ceasing to struggle until he was clear in the open swamp again, knee-deep in moss and weed. Then, unable to conquer the impulse, he glanced back over his shoulder—and froze, fascinated by what he saw.

The hummock, or whatever it was, was crawling out after him!

Sickeningly, the yellow mass of parachute-fabric rolled and heaved, while a succession of hoarse grunts and gurgles made Midge's fiery locks stand up on end. Still he could not stir. The boy crouched there, numb and petrified.

Suddenly the edge of the parachute lifted. It flapped up into the air, propelled by a violent thrust, and two muddy paws came into view. Then slowly, painfully, with many a gasp and wheeze, a pair of brawny shoulders followed. The next moment Midge found himself staring goggle-eyed at his old friend and sparring-partner, Dr. O'Mally!

There was a short but terrible silence.

"You—you—you—" spluttered the unfortunate Irishman, only to relapse into incoherence as his choking wrath overcame him. His round, crimson face was dripping with perspiration, his bald head thickly coated with mud. A tangle of grass hung like a garland about his neck, and wisps of it half-filled his wide-open mouth. Nor was his fearsome appearance improved by the peach of a black eye he had received in contact with a tree. Dr. O'Mally was a complete wreck!

Midge could only gaze at him owlishly. It was, he realised, the sheerest blind luck that had so thrown them together, and for the first few moments of heartfelt relief the boy hardly knew whether to yell with hysterical laughter or weep. In the end, his volatile nature came to the rescue. Midge felt he had to crack a joke or burst.

"Ah! Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" he quoted shakily. "Or is it the original Old Man of the Woods? No, bedad and begorrah, 'tis Old Ireland himself—and faith, I'm glad I dropped in on ye, doctor dear!"

O'Mally snorted like a water-buffalo. Furiously he spat the grass from his mouth, and thrice he strove to find speech, but failed. At last he raised a brace of podgy fists on high, flourishing them in a tantrum of rage.

"Ye crazy, clumsy, carrotty-headed coot!" he roared. "Ye footling, freckle-faced freak, haven't I gone through enough, begob, without you dropping bang on top of me and shoving my face deeper into this filthy mud? By the bones o' St. Patrick, ye had all Africa to fall into, but ye had to come and fall on me, ye rusty-haired spalpeen!"

Midge sniffed, forgetting his own woes for the moment in the pleasure of having another dust-up with the doctor. And, come what may, he did have one companion now in the midst of all this steamy solitude.

"Weil, why didn't you sound your hooter or move, instead of' blocking up the fairway with your great carcass?" he replied coldly, rising gingerly to his feet and then slithering into the mud again. "Ouch! Sufferin' cats, I'm glad I've found you, anyway, fatness, but—"

"Ouch, hold your chattering tongue!" snapped the disgruntled O'Mally and, clambering back to a firmer foothold on the thick folds of the parachute, he cast a baleful eye upon the landscape.

The exhausted pair had plunged to earth on a low, spongy knoll, roughly a hundred yards from the bank of the turgid river. Mangroves and feathery clumps of weed jutted out of the glistening marsh, which was blocked in higher up by barricades of wild cane, ferns, and stiff yellow reeds.

Behind them the jungle walls massed darkly. Ahead and above, the terrific mountain-heights blanketed the sun.

Of Captain Justice, Len, or Professor Flaznagel there were no signs. Sobered by the deathly stillness and their own gnawing anxiety, Midge and O’Mally gazed at each other without a word.

Forlorn castaways they looked as they stood there, maintaining a precarious footing on the marsh. O'Mally's unlaced shooting-boots were partially stuffed with ooze, his once gaily striped pyjamas had rips and tears and mudstains all over them. But Midge's garments had come out of the ordeal in an even more deplorable state, for he had lost both trouser-legs below the knee.

Yet he was luckier than the doctor and the rest of his comrades in one respect, for the lad still wore his khaki drill jacket, which he had managed to don before Xavier Kuponos' Abyssinian raiders bad collared him the previous night.

"Begorrah, this is awful!" O'Mally spoke huskily after a pause that seemed endless. "If only I could get my hands on that vile blackguard, Kuponos, sure I'd skin him!" Cautiously he sniffed at the evil stench arising from the marsh and, with eyes alert and lips compressed, he caught Midge by the elbow.

"Come on, ye imp, out of this!" he growled. "If this quagmire isn't a crocodile-swamp, then I'm a hairy gorilla! Faith, yon jungle doesn't look much better to me, but I'd sooner take a chance with serpints and leopards than the scaly brutes I can smell this minute! Get to the edge of the trees there, and then we'll obey orders and start shoutin'."

"And let's hope to goodness the others'll hear," mumbled Midge, as, holding hands, they splashed and waded to the bole of a huge tree near the fringe of the swamp.

There, for a full five minutes, the drenched, perspiring couple had to rest, fighting hard to regain their breath. Muffled noises, stealthy rustlings and murmurings, sounded among the bushes behind them, and once the whole forest throbbed and echoed to the fiendish screech of a monkey-sentinel, screaming a warning to its mates.

But Midge and O'Mally were too worried about their comrades' fate to do more than glance round nervously. That insistent question dinned in their minds: How had Captain Justice, Len, and Flaznagel got on?

"Ready, lad? Then shout, and to perdition with all the beasts and natives who might hear us!" puffed the valiant doctor at length. And, backed up by Midge's shrill voice, he yelled at the full pitch of his lungs:

"Justice! Con-nooor! Fiaz-naaagel! Where are ye?"

AGAIN and again they called till their wind failed them, and their throats became hoarse and parched. But only the chattering of monkeys and the outraged squawking of parrots replied.

"Oh, gosh, they're all done for—I'm sure of it!" groaned Midge, straining his ears as still no answer came. Angrily he shook his fists at the inquisitive little faces peering down through the lacework of branches overhead, and summoned all his strength for another lusty hail:

"Cap-taaain! Cap-tain Justice!"

But the result was the same—dead silence! In despair, the youngster stamped and tore at his damp red hair.

"We've lost 'em, doc," he gasped wretchedly. "Either the swamp or the trees have got 'em, and—Guff!"

Midge granted and reeled. Swift and heavy, down smacked O'Mally's hand, knocking the boy flat. And as Midge toppled, the Irishman blundered past him, shouting and babbling with joy.

"Lost, is it? Lost, your granny's left mitten! Justice! Len! Come on, me boys, here we are!" he bawled, waving his arms deliriously. "Bedad, is there any measly swamp in this world can beat Captain Justice, ye miserable, moanin' maggot? Look! Yonder! Here they come!"

With hand outstretched and streaming face crimson with delight, the doctor wheeled on Midge as out of the rattling cane-brake emerged two miry, utterly spent scarecrows!

"Skipper! Len! Suffering cats, you're right, fatness! Oh, thank goodness!"

Eagerly Midge squeezed round the tree-trunk, and with O'Mally pounding at his heels, stumbled along the baked-clay fringe of the marsh, bursting recklessly through grass and undergrowth in his haste to reach Justice and Len. For once his cheery talkativeness deserted him. He could only grasp his leader's hand as the captain bullocked his way out of the last of the cane, grim with joy too deep for words.

"The saints be praised! Begorrah, we thought you were goners!" wheezed O'Mally, stumbling up to give a helping arm. "Begob," grunted the Irishman, as he and Justice exchanged fervent grips, "ye look as though ye've been through the mill worse than me, and faith, I had a ginger-haired baboon drop smack on me head out of the skies! Where did ye come down, Justice?"

The captain, unable to speak for a moment, drew the back of his hand across his mouth and screwed up his face disgustedly. Len simply crumpled to the ground, with eyes closed and chest heaving painfully. Both were whacked to the wide, covered with scratches, bruises, and insect bites, and the captain, from his armpits downwards, was coated with green, evil-smelling slime. It was that more than anything that brought the frosty flame of anger into his eyes.

Starvation, pain, and danger, Captain Justice could endure all these with amazing fortitude. But if there was one thing that seriously got the famous adventurer's goat, it was dirt and the loss of his customary spruceness.

"Where did I land? Why, in the filthiest part of this forsaken swamp!" he growled, trying to make some impression on the mud with handfuls of grass. "Len was luckier—he finished up on the only dryish patch there was. But I went down up to my neck nearly, and he had to struggle across and haul me out. Stout work, Len! Thanks again!"

Abandoning his fruitless efforts to get clean, Justice mopped his moist face, then smiled wryly at his companions. The look in his eyes showed how overwhelmingly glad he was to see Midge and O'Mally safe and sound once more.

"However, filthy or not, I suppose we must all think ourselves lucky that we landed without broken bones," he went on, in something like his old brisk style. "But we'll have to steer clear of this swamp now—and 'ware crocs! Len and I have seen two real big fellows already, though luckily they were too drowsy to worry much about us."

A mirthless grin twitched the captain's lips as, instinctively, he glanced upwards.

"Our dear friend, Kuponos, thinks he's scuppered us thoroughly," he gritted. "But the beggar's made two mistakes. For one thing, he dropped us too near the outskirts of the jungle and forgot there are always wind-eddies near the lower slopes of mountains! And for another, he dropped us in the heat of the day, when the most dangerous beasts and blacks are dozing.

"I fear we'll have a gay time later on, lads, when it grows cool enough for the hunters to hunt. But meanwhile we four are together again, which is more than I ever expected, and perhaps we've got time to pull ourselves together in reasonable safety. So now the next thing to do is—"

"Find poor old Professor Flip-woggle!" exclaimed Midge, taking the words from his leader's mouth.

"Ay! And smartly, too! Has anyone the foggiest idea where the old chap dropped? Hang it!" snapped Justice, with sudden bitterness. "What a finish to a marvellous career, if we can't find him!"

"Och, don't think of it! We must!" O'Mally shook a doleful head. "The last I saw of him, he was a good half-mile or more to the west of me, as near as I could judge. That means—somewhere yonder!" he muttered. Justice's heart sank as he gazed in the general direction to which O'Mally pointed.

For there was nothing to see save jungle. Visibility was limited to perhaps thirty yards, and after that the eye was baffled by the heartbreaking welter of tree-trunks, bushes, ferns, and the network of fleshy, sinuous vines that dangled and trailed to the ground like gaudy ropes.

Once inside that shadowy maze, a man could lose himself in no time at all. And the short-sighted, colourblind professor, though quite at home in the most elaborate workshops, was as a child in the great Outdoors.

But where there's a will there's a way. Captain Justice, resourceful and resolute, was never one to acknowledge defeat until every possible venture had failed.

"Well, come along; can't stay here. The first step is to have a careful look-see!" he said, with forced cheerfulness; and, after a keen glance ahead, began to make his way towards the massive baobab-tree under which Midge and O'Mally had rested. A truly noble specimen was that giant breadfruit-tree, rising high above its fellows in tier after tier of glossy foliage.

Justice, after another inspection of the hoary trunk, took off his boots, hanging them on a near-by branch out of reach of white ants.

"I'm going up. If Flaznagel has fallen into the trees I may catch a glimpse of his chute," he said. "You fellows stick to the shade, and keep your eyes peeled in case there are snakes or prowling leopards around. Doc, give me a hand!"

Obediently O'Mally stooped, making a back; and, springing up lithely, Justice commenced his arduous climb. Soon he was lost to view among the lower branches, leaving his friends staring after him with anxious faces. Yet it was wonderful how their confidence had returned now that Captain Justice, the beloved leader, had taken charge of the grisly situation once more.

"If there's any chance at all of finding Flapdoodle, trust the skipper to nose it out!" murmured Midge. A remark with which not even Dr. O'Mally could disagree!

A Cry for Help!

UP and up clambered Captain Justice, climbing with the speed and dexterity of a born sailor. The baobab, with its thick stem and closely meshed branches and leaves, was not the easiest subject to tackle. But Justice, who, in his poorer days, had sailed before the mast on windjammers rounding the Horn, made light of the difficulties.

All that really troubled him were the myriad vicious insects and the stifling heat. And, too, he had not tasted food or good water for over twelve hours, and the strain began to tell on his iron stamina. But grimly, stubbornly, he forced himself to the crest at last; and there, clinging tenaciously to the topmost bough that would bear his weight, he looked out upon a world of blinding sunlight and colour.

It was a marvellous, awe-inspiring view, had Justice been in the mood to appreciate its glories. Slightly below the level of his eyes ran the vast resplendent sea of tropical vegetation, rolling far away to the heat-blurred horizons, while on his right the mountains loomed up in dazzling array. The equatorial sun, fiercer than any who have never experienced it can imagine, pressed down upon him like a molten weight.

Straddling the bough, with great care Justice wriggled out of his tattered pyjama jacket, twisting it turban-wise around his unprotected head. That done, he eased himself into a still higher position. And, linking his hands over his eyes, the hardy adventurer began slowly, methodically, to quarter the landscape in search of the lost professor.

A gruelling task—one that would have beaten any man less patient, less indomitable! The sun flayed his arms and shoulders. Shimmering heat-waves played treacherous tricks on his eyesight, and flocks of gaily plumaged birds, scared by the intrusion, fluttered above him with deafening squawks and screams.

And yet, in the end, it was a pair of these feathered denizens of the jungle that, all unknowingly, put Justice upon the right track!

The captain had begun to despair, when suddenly his eyes were attracted by large black dots wheeling sluggishly above a tree-crowned hill to the west, the only spot of high ground in all that waste. Lower and lower the birds spiralled, hung poised for a moment on outspread wings, then swung aloft again at the same lazy gait. And Justice, watching them intently, felt the chill hand of fear tugging at his heartstrings!

Vultures!

Justice stiffened. Too well he knew the habits of these scavengers—knew that it was their custom to hover aloft or at times descend to earth, and there wait with ghastly patience for a wounded animal—or a man!—to die. Nothing in jungle, swamp, or mountains could escape their constant vigilance. The captain mechanically followed their course, as the great birds sank through the air again.

And then he saw it!

To Justice, it seemed as if Providence had finally come to the aid of the professor and himself. After all the climbing and searching, it had been left to two of the most noisome cowards of the air to point out the position of the old scientist's parachute 'mid that wilderness of the "bush.”

"Got him, by James!"

In the moment of discovery, Captain Justice breathed a prayer of gratitude to every vulture ever hatched. Made giddy by heat and exhaustion, he nevertheless concentrated all his attention on the pathetic object they had shown him.

A small patch of yellow fabric it was, looking scarce larger than a good-sized scarf at that distance as it dangled limply from one of the highest trees on the rise, glinting dully in the sunlight. A parachute, sure enough—the professor was found! Justice's teeth gleamed in a quick smile of delight.

The flash of rejoicing, however, was brief. Swiftly the captain's face changed back to its former sombreness. For Flaznagel himself had yet to be rescued.

Separated from his friends by close on a mile of African bush, the old man was still as far off safety as ever. And with those sinister birds hanging over him—!

Justice wiped the sweat from his neck and face, shading his eyes once more. Jungle or not, prompt action was necessary now, and the slicker the better. As closely as he possibly could, the experienced adventurer marked the position of the crumpled chute, taking mental cross-bearings from the mountains, the sweep of the river, and the thrust of the hill itself.

Then, summoning all his energy, he slid and scuffled down the baobab-tree faster than he had ever shinned down from the yard-arms in the worst Atlantic storm.

"Right, Justice! We're under ye!" Excited voices hailed him, and the strong arms of O'Mally reached up as the captain swung himself off the lowest branch. Len and Midge, recovered somewhat from their marsh experiences, sprang to their feet. A husky cheer made parrots and monkeys scold again when Justice gasped out his news.

"I've spotted the chute all right—fixed its whereabouts, too, as near as I could," the captain panted. "But it's going to be a beast of a trek to get there. And those vultures—poor Flaznagel must be hurt or helpless, at least! The one blessing is that he must be alive, or—"

THERE was no need to complete the sentence. Len, O'Mally, and Midge clenched their fists and started to blunder forward on the instant. They, too, knew all about the habits of vultures.

"We've got to get there before it's time for those brutes to quit the air altogether," said Len, in a low voice, and Justice, thrusting past him into the lead, nodded grimly.

"Keep to the edge of the marsh as much as possible—walk in the open," he directed. "Watch out for crocs—don't go near anything that looks like a submerged log. And, whatever you do, don't drink any of this surface-water. Now, follow me, and don't jaw! I've got some bearings to remember, and my head's spinning already."

So saying, the captain stumbled ahead along the clayey margin of the swamp, face turned towards river and mountains. His comrades, sticking close together, trailed stiffly in his wake.

Began then an erratic but gallant dash to the rescue that sapped their strength, brought them to the verge of collapse, and nearly broke their hearts into the bargain! It was one of many such trips that were to follow in the terrible weeks ahead. But because it was the first, it was the one they never forgot.

Over parched clay, ridged like corrugated iron, through foul, scummy puddles, mosquito-haunted papyrus-beds, and over fallen trees that blocked the way, Justice led them, his eyes glued to a certain mountain crag that jutted out boldly from the glimmering mass. But when, presently, the greasy river took a sharp elbow-bend and cut back into the forest, the captain abandoned the ugly marsh and plunged on into the jungle fringe.

"Follow the river-bank!" he gulped, smashing through a bush and kicking his legs free of the curling vines. "Sing out if you spot a small crescent-shaped island—midstream! We have to turn our backs on that, and then bear roughly to the sou'-west—if we can tell which is sou'-west when we get there," he added ruefully.

"Don't try to travel quietly, lads—better make all the row you can. Remember snakes and animals are generally more scared of men than we are of them!"

"Oh yeah?" puffed Midge, with wry humour. "If that's so, skipper, then all the beasts around here must have died o' fright long ago!" Wearily the boy wriggled through a gap in the undergrowth which the portly but floundering O'Mally made for him. "Moanin' moggies, I couldn't be worse scared if I tried! An' I'm so hungry I could down a lion and eat him raw."

"Island ahead!" gasped Len at that moment, scrambling up a mossy bank and pointing beneath the spiked, polished leaves of a cactus-palm. The next, with a yell and a frantic leap, the youngster landed on O'Mally's shoulders as a sleek, scaly shape writhed almost from under him, vanishing to cover with an angry hiss and lash of supple tail.

"Snakes—more frightened than me!" Len mumbled, regaining his feet. "Yes—I don't think!"

But Justice, waiting only for the lad to recover himself, pushed sturdily on till the party came abreast of the mound of mud and weed in mid-river.

Once more he checked his bearings; then on again to the rescue of Professor Flaznagel—on into the heart of the bush now. Midge, Len, and O'Mally, nearly at their last gasp, faltered a second before commencing this last and most arduous stage of the trek. Yet, strangely enough, once they came to tackle it, that stage proved easier than it looked.

Luck was with them at last! For though the ferns, the creepers, and patches of breast-high grass flourished thicker than ever, and in places the shadow beneath the trees was inky-black, there were game-paths everywhere. Some lay narrow and tortuous, others were quite broad, and all led back from drinking-pools on the river bank to the rising ground above. After climbing, crawling, scrambling over, and helping each other past innumerable snags and obstacles, with noise enough to scare every living thing within earshot, the heroic four tumbled at last into one trail wider and more closely trampled than any they had yet discovered.

"Elephant-trail!" announced Justice, after a quick survey of the smashed and flattened bushes, and the broken saplings along the edges. "Safe enough, though, I fancy—over a week old, anyway!" he added. "Thank the stars for small mercies! The trail's running our way, too, so it—Look out, O'Mally! Jump!"

O'Mally did. Then he fairly flew, as mysterious and menacing rustlings sounded in the bush he had been standing by. Puffing like a grampus, the stout Irishman lumbered along the elephant-track that suddenly took a steep upward slant, nor did he stop running until his legs gave way.

"Och, murder and misery!" he moaned, as the others came toiling up. "By the black imps of Innishally, if I could only get hold of the vile thief who dumped me down in this pest-hole, sure, I'd—I'd—"

"Listen! For the love o' Mike, what's that?"

Quick as thought, Len Connor pounced, clapping a hand over the doctor's mouth. Then, through the throbbing silence that followed, harsh and terrifying, came a snarling, worrying sound from somewhere, followed by another that made Justice reel in his tracks.

"Flaznagel! He's calling us! By James, up the hill, boys—quick!" shouted the captain, as again that shrill but feeble cry for help rang faintly in his ears.

Still Alive—and Kicking!

HEEDLESS of fatigue, finding energy somehow, and forcing every last ounce out of their sorely tried limbs and bodies, the four tore up the slope, guided by the fearful snarls that increased in volume with every groggy stride they took. That last spurt of the rescue-party was as magnificent as it was reckless and punishing.

Up the slanting trail they blundered, anxiety lending wings to their heels. The ever-present monkeys chattered and gibbered above them, crashes and frightened hisses sounded on all sides, and once a lean spotted wraith flickered across their path and was gone. But the comrades hardly noticed it. They braced themselves for the final effort. Then altogether, like Rugger forwards barging through a scrum, they plunged headlong through a zareba of flowering bushes into a hillside clearing.

And there they stopped—dead! For Professor Flaznagel was found—just in time!

In the centre of the clearing towered a majestic African acacia, a forest colossus whose wide-flung branches had caught the professor's parachute. All down one side of the tree the chute hung, cords and envelope twisted together.

Still strapped in the harness, suspended in midair a full thirty feet above ground, dangled the swooning professor—menaced from above and below by two sleek and snarling leopards.

"The devils!"

Captain Justice picked himself up and lurched forward. One of the fierce brutes was making vain leaps from the ground at Flaznagel, while its mate, flattened along a branch above his head, pawed wickedly at the helpless captive, without having the courage to trust itself to the chute rope.

As the rescuers yelled, the one below made another spring, its talons scything the air beneath the professor's bare feet. The next instant Justice snatched a stout stick from the ground, and charged the demons with a ferocity equal to their own.

Snarls, savage screams, and human shouts raised bedlam in the clearing. The leopard on the ground whirled to face Justice, pointed ears laid back and greenish eyes aglow with hate, while its consort slithered down the tree to its side.

For a moment it looked as though the baffled hunters meant fighting, and Justice swung his club higher to meet the rush. Then, at sight of their other foes tottering towards them, the leopards lost their nerve, whisked behind the tree-trunk, and disappeared with a squall of rage.

"Glory be!" O'Mally fell on hands and knees, sobbing for breath. In another second, however, he had dragged himself erect again and was gazing up dizzily at Flaznagel.

"Ye're safe, professor!" he wheezed hoarsely. "Those spotted blackguards have gone. Quick, man, unbuckle yourself! We'll catch ye! Why, bedad and begorrah, the poor old fellow's fainted!"

Overcome by the uproarious arrival of his friends, coming on top of all that he had endured, Professor Flaznagel had relapsed into merciful oblivion. His unkempt white head, with his spectacles swinging precariously from one ear, hung forward on his chest, and his spare frame had gone limp. Justice & Co. gazed up at him, swaying wearily on their heels.

Here was a fresh problem. How was the unconscious professor to be released?

"Harness all twisted—no wonder he couldn't unbuckle it!" growled the captain, and limped towards the tree. But Midge, guessing his intention, forestalled him.

"Let me climb!" he panted. "Someone'll have to shin down on top of Flapdoodle and unhitch his belt. So I'll go—I'm lighter. Otherwise there may be two busted necks!"

Without waiting for permission or refusal, the courageous youngster began scrambling up the trunk, digging into the bark with fingers and toes. He gained the lower fork after what seemed an eternity, then, with a gasp of exertion, swung out into the branches and worked his way along, slowly and painfully.

At last the lad found himself perched up where the leopard had been—right above Flaznagel's head.

"Are ye all right, ye spalpeen?" cried O'Mally from the ground.

"Oh, simply grand!" retorted the breathless Midge. "And now for the blinkin' drop, as the monkey said when he fell off Nelson's column!" he muttered, as, cautiously, he lowered himself down the chute rope until he was seated astride the professor's bowed shoulders.

Loud and alarming creaks came from the overburdened cord and straps, while rescuer and rescued swayed dangerously. But, clinging on with one hand and bending sideways with a nerve and suppleness worthy of any acrobat, the red-headed youngster succeeded in getting his fingers on Flaznagel's belt-buckle, and the trick was done. A wrench, a quick twist, and then:

"Belo-ow!"

Midge uttered a piercing yell as he fell.

With his arms tight-clasped round the professor's shoulders, he and Flaznagel dropped like stones, their comrades bracing themselves to meet the impact. Justice and O'Mally between them caught Flaznagel safely, but Len was either too late or too done-up to hold his chum. Whatever the cause, he did little more than break Midge's fall. And the next Midge felt was a stunning blow as his head thudded against the turf.

It was the last straw! Weak as he was already, the youngster rolled over, half-rose, and then, with trees, bushes, everything spinning before him, he crumpled to the ground and stayed there.

WHEN Midge recovered his senses and opened bleary eyes some ten minutes later, it was to find himself stretched out beneath the acacia, with Len anxiously hovering near.

Professor Flaznagel, muttering brokenly, lay beside him, and Dr. O'Mally was tearing up moist chunks of moss from beneath a clump of ferns, squeezing them together to form a cool compress for the professor's forehead and temples. Farther off still, in a patch of sunlight that streamed through the branches, Captain Justice, the handyman, was using the professor's highly magnifying spectacles to start a small smudge-fire against the droning insects.

As Midge gurgled and sat up, all eyes turned upon him.

"Gosh, I—I'm sorry, old son!" Len cried remorsefully, though he himself was nearly as groggy as Midge. "I tried to grab you, but—"

"Don't be crying over the young thickhead," interrupted O'Mally heartlessly, after an expert examination of Midge's scalp. "Sure, ye can't hurt solid ivory! And look at what I found after picking the pockets of your jacket, ye little pest!"

Snorting, the doctor poked an old, bone-handled knife with a single large blade under Midge's disdainful nose, pointing at the same time to a weird and wonderful assortment of articles on the ground. There were twists of string, a battered note-case, a hank of fine copper wire, two sporting cartridges, and a chunk of toffee, too horribly sticky to interest even Midge. But the doctor spun the knife gaily into the air.

"A cat-stabber—a real whole knife! The only tool and weapon between us!" he crowed. "Why didn't ye say ye had it, ye rusty-haired half-wit! Faith, ye could have cut the professor loose, instead o' clambering all over the poor old boy as ye did!"

Midge, dazed and exasperated, glared back.

"Is that so?" he mumbled. "All right, cleverstick, perhaps you've tried the blinkin' blade? I knew I had it, but that knife wouldn't cut butter hot, let alone leather and cord, you walking gasometer!"

"But it dashed well will!" exclaimed Captain Justice, hobbling back from the fire just then, and taking the knife from O'Mally. "By James, once I've found a stone to whet this on, I'll make it cut! Midge, this is the best find so far!”

Sinking heavily to the ground, the gentleman adventurer gazed earnestly at poor Flaznagel, and then at his other comrades. In spite of appalling difficulties, fortune had been good to them after all. They were reunited again, incredible though that had seemed at one time, and with that, Captain Justice was content. Whatever befell now, they would live or share the same fate together.

"You'll have to rest here now till you're all fit enough to move again," he said quietly, breaking a long silence. "I'll be off, though, in a minute to try to find water, and later on, when it's cooler, we'll hunt for food somehow. Also we must beat back and recover a parachute from the marsh, if possible, because the cords, leather, and fabric are going to come in mighty useful. Flaznagel's is ruined, but the others may still be sound.

"And to-morrow, at all costs, we've got to cross the river and get up into those mountains—anywhere away from this infernal jungle before leopards or fever put paid to us all!"

His voice held a sombre note, but the others sat up hopefully while he sketched out his plans, for their faith in him was proof against all calamities. With Justice to lead them, each felt he could go anywhere, do anything.

"Well," rumbled O'Mally, "that Kuponos skite has carried out his vile plans, and no mistake! Here we are, cut off from anywhere, with only an old knife between us. We're lost, and if all our friends on Justice Island and Titanic Tower combed Africa for us in the good old Flying Cloud, I fear we'd still be lost! But, begob, who cares? We've been up against it before. And we'll come out on top yet!"

"And one day," said Midge slowly, easing himself back deeper into the shade, "we'll get back and find Mister Kuponos, too! And then we'll make him wish he'd never been born! Cheer up, all! 'Cos we're still alive—and kicking!"

The castaways, with the rescued professor lying in their midst, exchanged grim but significant nods. Midge had summed it up! They were not licked yet!

No—but jolly nearly! In Next Saturday's Justice, story you'll learn how they start to make themselves less helpless, and face up squarely to their appalling plight!

Link to Part 3

Castaways!

Justice and Co. –Castaways!

Accustomed hitherto to great wealth and all the scientific equipment any band of Adventurers could have, CAPTAIN JUSTICE and his Comrades suddenly find themselves hurled from Space into an African jungle. . . .

Empty-handed, without food, weapons, or hope!

THE FIRST OF A NEW AND THRILLING SERIES

Complete: By MURRAY ROBERTS
Part 1 of 12

From The Modern Boy magazine, 7 July 1934, No. 335 Vol. 13. Contributed by Keith Hoyt, digitized by Doug Frizzle, April 2013.

The Man Who Never Forgot!

THERE is no doubt about it. Monsieur Xavier Kuponos was an exceedingly bad egg. A Greek by birth, and a cosmopolitan crook, he was one of the cleverest, most ruthless rogues that ever infested the Dark Continent of Africa. That wide-flung land of wealth and mystery, where European civilisation still wages constant warfare against primitive savagery, seems to possess a peculiar attraction for Kuponos' fellow countrymen, and many of these Greek merchants and traders are stout citizens. No one, however, could say that of Xavier Kuponos.

Captain Justice

Stalwart, handsome, and suave, a past-master at dealing with natives, this particular Greek was as bold and pitiless as a raiding tiger, and as wily as a jackal.

Government police and officials in all the colonies from the Mediterranean to Mozambique grew red in the face at mention of his name, which they reviled in English, Italian, French, Portuguese, and Arabic. It was rumoured that Kuponos dealt in illicit diamond buying, drugs, and ivory, and it was definitely known that he was the organiser of the greatest slave-dealing “ring" in Africa. Furthermore, as a gunrunner, the slippery Greek was in a class by himself.

Kuponos had spies and agents everywhere, black, white, and saddle-coloured, and as most of his sinister operations were carried out on swamp-ridden coasts or the sweltering borders of the Belgian Congo and Abyssinia, he proved as difficult to catch as an eel.

Money flowed into his coffers, and none of his allies dared betray him, for he could invent ways of punishing traitors that made even the native experts in torture sit up and take notice. And undoubtedly the man would have continued to prosper had not certain exasperated British officials adopted drastic measures.

They requested the assistance of that celebrated Gentleman Adventurer and confidential adviser to the British Government—Captain Justice.

The captain was enjoying a spell of well-earned leisure when the urgent appeal reached him.

According to his invariable custom, Justice first demanded a free hand, plenty of elbow-room, and no red tape, and, these being granted, he flew to Africa, crossing the Atlantic in his superb airship, the beautiful and amazing Flying Cloud.

There, assisted by Professor Flaznagel, the great scientist and inventor; Dr. O'Mally, his stout Irish second-in-command; Len Connor, his athletic young wireless operator; and the chirpy, red-haired, and resourceful young Midge, Captain Justice flung himself and all his power against the Greek arch-criminal.

Like Kuponos, the Gentleman Adventurer also possessed loyal and very efficient agents, and it was not long before he picked up the threads of the case. Those threads were speedily woven into a net from which there was no escape.

As a result, on a certain moonlight night when Xavier Kuponos was personally supervising the transhipment of a cargo of rifles and machine-guns for some Abyssinian customers, Captain Justice pounced. Like an avenging hawk, the Flying Cloud swooped upon the lonely stretch of beach in Eritrea, the Italian colony on the red-hot coast of the Red Sea, and the game was up.

The wonderful airship, practically invisible under the influence of Professor Flaznagel’s Q-ray, an invention that rendered her tranzelonite hull crystal-clear, landed unobserved in the wide back areas of the beach. A sudden blaze of searchlights dazzled Kuponos and his smugglers, and before the shock wore off, Justice's well-armed aircraftmen were swarming to the attack. Tear-gas grenades and the brisk rattle of machine-gun fire stampeded the Greek's black henchmen. The valuable cargo was abandoned—and Kuponos, for once, lost his head.

Blindly he fled—and suddenly found himself confronted by a lean, dapper man in white, with a neat torpedo beard, a sardonic smile, and the chilliest of steel-grey eyes. Both men struck at each other, but Kuponos, missing badly, overbalanced. When he woke up, he had a bandage round his head and handcuffs round his wrists. In this plight, the captured Greek was taken back to Egypt, where, after a sensational trial in Khartoum, he received sentence of fifteen years' hard labour. Xavier Kuponos was crushed. But before being led from the dock, he tore loose from his gaolers, and turned a swarthy, hate-distorted face upon Captain Justice, who had laid him by the heels.

"You win now, Captain Justice!" he shouted dramatically across the court. "But remember this—the prison that can hold Xavier Kuponos has not been built! One day I shall escape, and then—beware! I have planned a punishment for you more terrible than you could ever imagine!"

"Then I shan't try, Kuponos!" Justice retorted dryly, and, his work finished, he and his comrades returned to Justice Island.

"All bluff and baloney!" remarked Midge, referring to the Greek's wild threat. But in this case the youngster was wrong.

For within six weeks of the trial Captain Justice received news that the resolute smuggler-slaver had indeed escaped and got clear away into the mountains of Abyssinia! By then, however, the Gentleman Adventurer was busy with other affairs and had almost forgotten the enemy he had made.

But Xavier Kuponos had not forgotten Captain Justice. He never would! And several months later, when the captain returned to Africa, this time on pleasure bent, Kuponos smiled for the first time since breaking out of gaol!

Captain Justice's reasons for revisiting East Africa were twofold. In the light of after events, it seemed as if Fate, in her cruellest mood, had deliberately lured him back.

One reason was that Professor Flaznagel, in his highly eccentric way, had chanced to develop a sudden overwhelming desire to explore for radium in the high plateau country near the Sudan - Abyssinia - Kenya borders. The second reason was that young Midge and Len had long cherished the ambition to go on a big-game hunt and bag at least one lion and rhinoceros head, apiece.

Faint rumours, circulating through scientific channels, had reached Flaznagel that pitchblende deposits, fairly rich in radium, might be found in this secluded corner of Africa. And for the professor a rumour was sufficient. The peppery, indomitable old genius regarded gold, precious stones, or ivory with lofty disdain. But a rare mineral, or the mere whisper of its existence, drew him like a magnet, even unto the overheated wastes of this earth.

And, naturally, Justice & Co. had to accompany him.

RIFLES, scientific apparatus, and equipment were overhauled, and in due course, leaving their peaceful colony on Justice Island under the capable management of John Bigg, the little party set forth, Africa-bound. The Flying Cloud bore them to Khartoum. Then the dirigible sailed back for the island, with orders to return to the Sudan in two months to pick up the hunters again.

Thence Justice & Co., having bidden the airship's crew a hearty au revoir, voyaged up the White Nile in many craft, ranging from a trim stern-wheel steamer to a native dhow that possessed a positive genius for ramming its ungainly nose into every mudbank in the river. At Mongalla, the last town of any size on the Bahr-el-Jebel, they disembarked, hired a motley collection of native porters, cooks, servants, and guides, then turned eastwards and marched.

Of Xavier Kuponos and his threats of vengeance, never a thought crossed their minds. Justice, in his time, had made many enemies. One more or less troubled him not a jot!

Behold the comrades, then, towards the close of a broiling day about a week after leaving Mongalla, trudging slowly across a vast plain that sloped gradually to the feet of steep, rugged hills in the distance, where Professor Flaznagel hoped to do his own hunting.

It was a savage and desolate land; a dreary, eye-aching expanse of coarse grass-range, its arid monotony relieved only by occasional clumps of thorns, and greasy swamps that were the breeding-ground of countless mosquitoes and flies.

Dim blue dusk was creeping across from the high ridges back east; and the early moon, looming up like a colossal disc of pale copper, shed an eerie light upon the crests of fantastic mountains far away in the Abyssinian wilds. But, though evening was nigh, no cooling breeze tempered the air. Trekking through the moist, sticky heat was like marching through the hot-rooms of a Turkish bath.

Captain Justice, however, seemed his normal self as he swung along at the head of the column. His great strength and physical fitness apparently rendered him impervious to heat or cold. An alert, dapper figure in khaki, with pith-helmet tilted at a jaunty angle, and a cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth, he led the way, talking quietly to Len Connor.

Behind, strung out in ragged line, the native bearers plodded patiently under their loads, and four more carried Professor Flaznagel in a hammock lashed to two poles. Midge and Dr. O'Mally brought up the rear, wrangling amicably in the intervals of wiping their clammy faces and necks.

So far, alas, the hunters' luck had been poorish. There was no lack of ordinary game—small antelopes, oryx, and gazelles, chiefly, with here and there an aggressive family of wart-hogs. But lions, though plentiful and uproarious at night, were too elusive by day, and of Old Man Rhino not a trace could be found.

"I reckon the bloomin' lions must have heard I was coming after 'em and scooted!" Midge complained, squeezing gingerly past a thorn-bush on the trail and bumping into the jaded doctor. "Or else they've seen your face, fatness, and crawled away to die! Cheer up, doctor—you're puffing like a leaky kettle! How're you feeling? Warm?"

"Warm!" O'Mally mopped his glistening bald head. "Bedad, 'tis all very fine for Justice, who's all wire and whipcord. But for an Irish gentleman with good meat on his bones this heat is more trying than your impudence, ye clumsy, insolent pipsqueak! By the beard of St. Patrick, I'm not warm—I'm baked! If we don't make camp soon, 'tis meself will sit down and frizzle!"

"Good! Roast pork for supper, then!" retorted Midge, ducking hurriedly. "Still, never mind! The captain's sure to call a halt soon, and— Great Scott! What's that?

Listen—listen! Gosh, it's—"

Midge stopped. Everyone stopped, petrified with astonishment. The natives dropped their loads, Justice jerked up his head, Len fumbled for his glasses. Through the sudden silence dinned that most unexpected of all sounds in a stark wilderness— the heavy droning roar of a powerful aeroplane!

In the Circle of Fires!

THERE she comes!" It was Justice who sang out sharply, his brows knitted in a slight frown. Instantly all eyes followed the direction of his upflung hand.

Out of the north the great plane came, a burly, tri-motored passenger-ship, sleekly silver against a patch of lemon-hued sky. The last level rays of the dying sun tipped its upper wings with fire, but in the tricky light the shadow beneath the lower wings made it difficult to discern the mysterious craft's number and markings, even with binoculars. What its pilot or pilots were doing out in this back o' beyond, hundreds of miles from the fringes of civilisation. Justice & Co. could not so much as guess.

Steadily the aeroplane boomed towards them—then, swerving suddenly, it circled twice above the little party on the open plain. Midge and Len waved their handkerchiefs, while the natives huddled together uneasily. But either the ground dusk was too dense for the pilot to see or his attention was elsewhere, for no answer came to the friendly signals. Climbing again, the machine swung away. And at last only the muffled grumbling of the engines floated back as a spreading bank of night - clouds swallowed it up.

"Well, that's a blessed knock-out!" exclaimed Midge, breaking a long pause. "Fancy spotting a huge plane like that out in this giddy wilderness! Wonder what the pilot's up to? We're too far east for him to be a regular mail or passenger flier. Golly, p'r'aps the blinkin' Abyssinians are starting an air force on their little own!"

"More likely some fellows starting a new east to west trip across the continent," said the less-imaginative Len. "It's funny, though, the way they wasted time buzzing over us. What do you think, captain?'' Justice shrugged.

"There might be a dozen reasons for the plane's presence out here, lad. I don't know. What does interest me, though," he added quietly, is why that plane is sailing without regulation markings. Hang it, the light's not so bad as all that, but though I stared hard, I couldn't see a single number or badge anywhere."

Justice stroked his torpedo beard, then shrugged again.

"However, I suppose it's no business of ours, and the plane certainly isn't in any trouble. Let's make camp."

And he turned to give the order to his head man, a stalwart Shilluk warrior, whom Midge had re-christened Cherry Blossom.

Right willingly the bearers fell to work. Tents were erected, food-boxes opened, cooking utensils rattled cheerfully. The tropical twilight deepened swiftly to full dusk, and the natives yelled lustily while they worked to scare the leopards away. But presently a ring of blazing fires made that precaution unnecessary; and soon the moon was high in the sky, transforming the ugly plain into a silvery fairyland, weirdly beautiful.

Over the meal, what little talk there was centred upon the strange aeroplane. But the explorers were too tired to indulge in much fruitless speculation. Mosquitoes were beginning to whine viciously, and from somewhere in the direction of the hills a pair of roving lions roared hungrily at intervals. The black and muscular Cherry Blossom, after a muttered conference with his fellows, suddenly spoke up, promising good hunting on the morrow.

Thus encouraged, Justice & Co. turned in. Fires were heaped up, night guards were posted. A slumbrous silence settled gradually over the lonely camp, broken only by those ominous sounds from the hills.

What exactly jerked Captain Justice from the depths of dreamless sleep at last he did not for the moment know.

But suddenly he found himself sitting bolt upright under the mosquito netting, every muscle and nerve in his body braced ready for action. There was a queer prickling sensation at the nape of his neck, his heart throbbed violently under the shock of sudden awakening. All the adventurer's instincts warned him that danger was near. A lurking peril, very close at hand, threatened the camp!

In the darkness, Justice gripped the bolstered revolver lying beside him. He drew out the weapon. The safety-catch slid back noiselessly under the pressure of his thumb.

Then abruptly he sprang upright, casting aside the mosquito net as a sound, faint but unmistakable, burst upon his straining ears.

"An aeroplane!”

Justice stiffened, listening intently. A murmur of seared native voices outside mingled with a low, sonorous drone in the skies.

"It is a plane! Another? Or the same one?” he muttered, hastily pulling on his knee-boots, without which it is asking for trouble to venture out into an African night. "My great James, what the dickens—"

By this time the camp was fully aroused. Louder and louder boomed the roar of the plane—and lower, till the earth shook to the reverberations. Justice thrust his head through the tent-flap. He could see the machine plainly now, blue-white in the moonlight—that same big, tri-motored passenger-carrier he had seen earlier on!

Straight for the tents it was heading, at less than five hundred feet above the desolate plain. The captain, puzzled and more than a trifle alarmed, reached behind him for his glasses.

And it was at that moment that one of the camp sentries screamed in mortal terror.

High-pitched and vibrant, startling as the explosion of a shell, the native's shriek rang out, rising even above the blast of the aero-engines. During the nerve-racking moment that followed, Justice could scarce believe his own eyes.

It was a raid!

MEN suddenly were all around the camp—lithe, naked figures, ebony Goliaths who had crept patiently, cunningly upon their drowsy prey. Slender spear-blades and polished knobkerries glimmered in the firelight, beady eyes shone as the deadly marauders closed in, throwing up their long, striped shields, and drowning the cries of the bearers with strident yells. The gallant Shilluk, Cherry Blossom, sprang to meet them. He was stunned, bowled over, and trampled on before he could strike a blow.

Panic and pandemonium raged within the circle of fires!

In that first split-second that seemed an eternity, Justice saw Dr. O'Mally burst from his tent like an enraged bull. Midge, following pluckily, was collared and whisked away. Len drove his fist into a bare black chest and dodged a knobkerry stroke. Professor Flaznagel's tent had collapsed, imprisoning the old scientist. Next instant Justice's tent also toppled under the impact of brawny fighting-men charging in from behind.

On hands and knees, the adventurer was flung forward, deafened by the yells and screeches, the sound of blows, the harsh bellow of the circling plane. He had the wit to wriggle aside the moment he struck the ground, however, and a snarling raider tripped over him. Whirling savagely at bay, the captain lashed out at a malevolent black face, and kicked a third enemy's legs from under him. Then he stooped swiftly, whipping up his fallen revolver.

It was knocked from his grasp. As the glinting barrel swung up, a spear-handle cracked across Justice's wrist, numbing it. He ducked a second stroke, sidestepped, snatched up the gun again in his left hand, and fought clear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw O'Mally and Len suddenly swamped by their sinewy attackers, while the surviving bearers cringed in a heap before the menace of dashing spears.

At that, fighting-mad, Justice smashed, hacked, and kicked his way out of the scrimmage, fierce and quick-footed as a panther. Blows rained upon him out of the fireshot gloom, yet by some miracle of ability he contrived to escape the worst. With beard bristling, grey eyes flashing, he tore free, made a break for the open—then faltered badly, gasping at what he saw.

The giant aeroplane had landed. It was taxiing steadily across the grass plain towards the camp, its propellers idling in glittering arcs. For a moment the sight, the certain knowledge that the aviator was in league with wild tribesmen, staggered Justice—and that brief hesitation proved disastrous. Before he could snap into action again, something whizzed accurately through the air.

It was a knobkerry, skilfully flung by a long, black arm. And it landed squarely! A terrific blow on the head spun Justice round. He buckled at the knees, lurched forward, and sank into the depths of darkest oblivion. The next Captain Justice knew, he was lying hunched up in what appeared to be a small canvas chair. His impressions, emotions, were vague and disjointed.

A deep, agonising ache racked his head, his limbs felt stiff and cramped. Astonishingly, too, he experienced a mystifying sensation of speed, so strong as to make his sluggish brain whirl afresh.

In his ears throbbed a rhythmic, roaring sound, and the chair and the floor on which his feet rested quivered. By an effort he succeeded in opening his eyes, and squinted groggily around. There was an uncurtained window on his right. Through this he caught a sudden astounding glimpse of the dawn, breaking over shadowy hills behind and below him. Dawn! Justice strove to shake off the lethargy that gripped him.

"Dawn?" he muttered incredulously, then gave a convulsive start as a familiar voice called to him, as from afar.

"Captain! Skipper! Are you all right? Thank goodness you've come to!"

Heedless of excruciating pain, Justice turned his head sharply. His jaw hardened, and a dull flame of anger showed in his eyes. For there, in another chair on his left, huddled a red-haired, snub-nosed youngster, with ugly bruises on his freckled face, and cords tightly knotted about his wrists and ankles.

"Midge!"

Justice gazed weakly past his youthful comrade. He saw then that they were in the cabin of a plane, speeding through the dawn; saw, too, that the rest of his friends were in the same grim plight. The top of Len Connor's fair head just showed above the back of a third seat, while Dr. O'Mally's limp bulk filled a fourth. Both were insensible. And farther up, nearest the door, slumped Professor Flaznagel, his bearded chin sunk upon his breast, his horn-rimmed spectacles dangling from one ear.

Justice licked his parched lips.

"Midge!" he repeated thickly, and struggled to rise. But the effort proved too much. Before he could speak again, the hot flood of pain flowed stronger through his head, and swept him away into the darkness once more.

And the passenger plane flew on.

“Now the Lesson Begins!"

WHEN next the famous adventurer recovered consciousness, his waking thought was that someone had clapped him into a roaring furnace-room. The blinding glare of tropical sunlight scorched his eyes the instant they fluttered open, and instinctively he jerked his head to the left. Again the vibrant beat of motors burred in his ears, and again the first person he saw was Midge. But now dawn had given place to full daylight, and the aeroplane's cabin was like a stifling oven.

Beads of sweat glistened on Midge's face. The diminutive youngster, whose appetite was as magnificent as his courage, looked weak with hunger and thirst. Nevertheless, he greeted Justice with something like his old irrepressible grin, and bobbed his head forward. Justice's eyes shifted in obedience to the gesture. With a deep sigh of thankfulness, he perceived that O'Mally, Len, and the professor had also regained their senses.

But they were still prisoners. And all save Flaznagel, whose feet were bare, and Midge, who had wriggled into a khaki jacket before quitting his tent, were clad, only in thin pyjamas and unlaced boots. They had been kidnapped. Captured by black raiders in the age-old wilderness, then spirited away in a highly up-to-date aeroplane. It was incredible, nightmarish, but true!

Yet why? What was behind this amazing attack in which primitive savagery and modern science had joined forces? Justice, hardened to danger though he was, could not repress a shiver.

His second spell of stupor, however, seemed to have done the tough adventurer more good than harm. The pain no longer filled his head entirely, but was concentrated in one big burning bruise above the right temple.

Vainly he wrestled with the cords that bit into his wrists. The bonds held tight.

"Well? What's happened, boy?" he asked Midge at last, speaking in a low, repressed voice.

The drooping youngster sighed and growled.

"Those blighted black niggers nobbled us all right last night!" he snorted. "Golly, they stamped us and our bearers out flat! May their rabbits die! You—you were the last to go down! I tried to get to you, but some grinning black Carnera was sitting on me, the beastly chunk of coal-tar!"

Tears of anger glimmered on Midge's lashes at the memory.

"The brutes rounded up poor old Cherry Blossom & Co.," he mourned. "Then they hustled us along to this bloomin' plane. You and the others were all K.O.'d by then, and I didn't see much myself. All I know is that there are two white swabs up there in the cockpit, but both had helmets and goggles on. The blacks were under orders to capture us alive, and they hove us into here. Then the plane took off.

"We've been flying all night and ever since. And not a bite to eat or a drop to drink, the rotters!" snapped Midge. "Blowed if I know where we are now, skipper, 'cept that we've been heading west or sou'-west pretty steadily. We did stop for petrol once, soon after you woke up the first time, though I've no idea where. Some bush trading post, I fancy. But I couldn't see a thing, and I—I couldn't move about to help anyone!"

"But who are these blackguards who've snared us?" spluttered O'Mally, puffing out his hot, mottled cheeks. "Bedad, let me get my hands on 'em, an' by the black bull o’ Tyrone I'll skin 'em alive, so I will!"

"Hallo, fatness! Nice to hear your sweet foghorn voice again!" chirped Midge, in a grand effort to keep his pecker up. "How you blowing, Len? What-cheer, Professor Whiskers! Never say die, old hoss!"

But the poor old professor was past saying anything; and Justice, after another stern but unavailing tussle with his bonds, relaxed and fell to whipping his scattered wits into line. The sun, pouring in on him, was a sheer molten torment. He blinked up at its position, and made a rough guess at the time.

"The devils! Wonder what the game is?" he grunted.

Well over ten hours had elapsed since the raid—ten hours of headlong flying with only one break! And goodness only knew where the plane was now! French territory? Deep in the heart of the Congo? Justice gave it up.

By pressing hard on the floor, he managed to rise clumsily and prop himself against the window, screwing up his eyes in the white glare. But a searching scrutiny of the landscape below only served to increase his perplexity and rage. The change that had come over the scene since he last recalled it was amazing.

Gone now were all traces of the drear Sudanese plateau, with its gaunt hills and the Abyssinian heights on the horizon. Beneath him, as he peered down, rolled league upon shimmering league of brilliant close-matted jungle, of tangled streams, mighty forests, and mangrove swamps.

It was like flying across an endless, intricate, and gaudy carpet. All the hues of the rainbow were there, from the shiny emerald green of forest foliage to the dull darkness of rotting marshes and the rusty brown of natural, rock-ribbed clearings. Occasional patches of shallow water flashed like mirrors and were gone, their surfaces dotted with wild fowl, their reedy banks the haunt of crocodiles and mosquitoes, as Justice knew too well.

But even more arresting than this colourful, sinister spectacle were the mountains—looming up to form a gargantuan rampart on the right.

In tier after tier of serried ledges and snarling crags they towered, so high as to cast a broad band of indigo shadow across the miles of jungle below. Like many mountain ranges in Central Africa, no rolling foothills nestled at their base. The gigantic masses rose sheer and majestic from the bush, spanning the sky in breathtaking grandeur.

Justice drew a deep breath. Sailor, aviator, world-wanderer, his knowledge of all countries was almost encyclopedic. Yet, though he had trekked over most of the known, and many of the unexplored, regions of Africa, this much was certain; never once had he roved in the vicinity of this tremendous, jungle-fringed range.

"Well, wherever we are, lads, we're right in the darkest backblocks of Darkest Africa!" he announced at length, with the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "And—"

Then the captain checked abruptly. His comrades exchanged startled glances. For suddenly the mysterious plane swung off its straight, smooth course, sank lower, and began to cruise in a wide circle in the shadow of the mountains.

Simultaneously the door of the pilot's cockpit slid back, and for the first time Justice & Co. saw one of their captors. A man entered the cabin. He paused there, resting a hand on the revolver at his hip while he smiled down at his captives. The kidnapper was a tall, wiry fellow, broad-shouldered, slender-waisted, and clad in soiled white linen flying kit. His helmet and goggles were thrown back to reveal a lean, olive-hued face, topped by a fringe of black curls. Justice took one look at him. On the instant his mind flashed back to a scene in a Khartoum courthouse, many months before.

"Xavier Kuponos, the Greek!" Justice said softly; and his muscles swelled and grew taut.

Understanding dawned on Justice & Co. like a great light.

Xavier Kuponos, the ex-convict, the Greek smuggler-slaver! So this was the explanation of the mystery—the reason for the savage outrage on the plain. Kuponos had sworn to square accounts; to mete out a punishment more terrible than Justice could imagine! Involuntarily the adventurer and his comrades braced themselves for the ordeal they knew was coming.

The atmosphere within the cabin became charged with electricity. Kuponos was a handsome enough man in his swarthy, flamboyant way, and might have been handsomer still but for his close-set, tawny eyes. They were the keynote to his crooked nature—hard, cunning, infinitely evil.

"Kuponos! And, like a fool, I'd forgotten the beggar!" Justice groaned inwardly.

Still smiling, but without a word, the Greek closed the cockpit door behind him, muffling the clamour of the motors somewhat. His narrowed eyes travelled slowly over the tense prisoners, and the smile deepened. Then he faced Captain Justice, inclining his curly head.

"So! Good-morning, captain!" His English was softly accented. "You recognise me, I see!"

"Congratulations!" Justice replied sardonically. "But do you imagine you are going to get away with this business, you renegade?"

"I think so!" Kuponos nodded, though his colour rose at the biting epithet. "Yes, I think so, my captain! You see, you haven't your so-famous Flying Cloud and all your brave men behind you now. And if you are banking on being traced by the Sudanese police—pray forget it. You won't be!"

The suave villain made a gesture towards the window.

"At this moment," he purred, "you are something over a thousand miles from your last night's camping ground. Wonderful are the ways of aviation, are they not? Alas! I cannot tell you precisely where you are, so you must simply take my word. Then again, all traces of your recent camp have been removed, as well as your devoted bearers. Indeed, they have been removed to places where they will neither talk nor search for you, but simply work! You may trust my faithful black slave-raiders for that!"

Kuponos grinned, his nostrils dilating.

"In a word, Captain Justice," he drawled, "you are lost to your friends on Justice Island for good!"

"But—but this is monstrous!" Professor Flaznagel sat up, wrathfully blinking his short-sighted old eyes. "You utter rascal, how dare you!" he boomed, with a pompousness that was truly sublime in the circumstances. "Are you aware that I am Professor Flaznagel? And that you have seriously interrupted me in a most important task? Confound it, I demand—I insist that you take us back immediately! Bless my soul!"

"Bah!" Angered by what he thought was a futile exhibition of bluff, Kuponos half raised his hand to strike the lion-hearted old scientist. At the last moment, however, he recovered himself, laughing quietly.

"Insist, away, dodderer!" he sneered.

Then sharply the Greek wheeled on Justice once more.

"Enough of this!" he rapped. "You're not in civilisation now, but in primitive Africa! Justice, I swore I'd teach you what it means to fight Xavier Kuponos in his own territory, and now the lesson begins. A slow and terrible fate, you hound! One that you cannot escape! And the slower the better!"

There was a feverish light now in the Greek renegade's eyes as he pointed to the window again, and the snarl of the engines made a fitting accompaniment to his words.

"You see this country?" he cried fiercely. "Look at it, fools—one of the great, untrodden wastes of Africa! Unknown—prehistoric! I myself have never explored it, though I have heard tales of it from my black allies that would make you shudder.

"I know something about the natives and wild beasts down there—but you're going to find out for yourselves. Indeed, I fancy you'll be the first white man ever actually to set foot on it. I'm going to land you in its midst, without food, weapons, or hope! Justice, you've found a new territory, but one thing is sure—you'll never get out! You can die in it—or live in it, if you can!"

Into the Void!

A STUNNED silence followed the rogue's outburst as slowly the hideous meaning of the sentence sank into five stricken minds. Midge found his tongue first.

"H'm! Sounds pretty sweet, Mister Greasy!" jeered the plucky lad. "But how d'you reckon to land a heavy plane in that tangle of bush below?"

Kuponos' reply came swiftly. "I'm not landing the plane—I'm landing you!" he gloated. "You cub, you're going to step out of this cabin in midair!"

"Why, you—you— By St. Patrick!" O'Mally exploded, the blood draining from his rubicund cheeks. "Let me get at ye, ye vile, curly haired poodle, and I'll tear ye into bits! May all the imps—"

But Kuponos ignored the raging Irishman. He was enjoying the expression on Captain Justice's pale, hard face.

"Ay, that's your reward for interference, man!" continued the Greek. "I'm going to—what's your English word?—maroon you in wildest Africa! And, believe me, Justice, no one but the blacks will ever find you. That's an original punishment you never imagined, eh?"

Justice, coldly defiant as ever, curled his lip.

"It's a punishment that will be over quickly, anyway," he shrugged. "Carry on, renegade! The blacks will be welcome to me—after I've stepped off this plane, you cowardly hound!"

But Xavier Kuponos, it seemed, had another and still more surprising card up his sleeve.

"No, Justice, you don't shorten it that way!" he laughed. "There's going to be nothing quick about your fate, my friend. You're going to hit the ground alive!"

To the increased astonishment of all, the Greek suddenly whipped out a knife, severed Midge's wrist-cords, then covered the boy with his revolver.

"Under your seat, cub," he said softly, "is a parachute, ready in its pack. The same applies to you others! Put yours on, boy—now! Untie your ankles, then release your friends. And do it smartly, too, or your dear leader loses a toe to begin with!"

Kuponos held the whip-hand! Stiffly, helplessly, Midge rose. He could do nothing else, for already the revolver was pointing steadily at Captain Justice. Like one in a dream, the boy harnessed himself into the parachute straps. He glanced wistfully at the Greek's weapon, miserably at Len, then began to untie his chum's hands.

One after the other, O'Mally, Flaznagel, and Justice were similarly released, and, under the threat of Kuponos' revolver, they donned their parachutes. Justice, despite his steel nerves, turned almost sick with apprehension, not for himself, but on his friends' account.

Marooned amid jungle and colossal mountains! Even a rank tenderfoot could have had no difficulty in picturing the ghastly fate in store for the doomed five.

Captain Justice knew from experience that their chances of escape were practically nil. No white man, forced to exist under worse handicaps than the natives themselves, could hope to live long in that scorching death-trap. They would live just long enough to taste its worst horrors!

Dully he became aware that Kuponos was speaking again,

"Captain Justice, you've been a great man in your way. You've been head of your own organisation, ruler of your own island-kingdom. You see, Xavier Kuponos knows all about you. You've enjoyed riches and comfort; you've had the assistance of this Flaznagel, who is a fool, but a clever fool, and he has backed you up with all the resources of science.

"Stout followers, the finest airship in the world, laboratories, workshops, weapons—you've had them all. Now you're losing them all! You ruined my own organisation; I've spent my last cent on this, my revenge. But I'll live to build up my power again. You won't!"

Smiling, covering the despairing captives warily, Kuponos backed to the cabin door. Even then Justice could hardly grasp that the man was a maniac who seriously intended to go right through with his fearful revenge. But Kuponos threw back a switch—and the door opened. It was a sliding-door. It glided slowly back on rollers into the curved thickness of the fuselage.

"Well, my interfering friends, who leads the way?"

Justice, after a haggard glance at the reeling landscape, spoke in a harsh, strained voice:

"Listen, Kuponos! You've got me, I know. But my friends—give them a bare chance, at least! Two of them are boys, and—"

The heroic captain could have bitten out his tongue next instant. His gallant plea added the last exquisite drop to the Greek's cup of triumph.

"Ha, you ask favours now!" he cried. "Well, good-bye, fools—and good hunting! The boys shall go first!"

Quick as lightning, the muscular rogue pounced. He snatched Midge off the floor, and hurled the boy neck and crop out into empty space. Midge vanished!

Down and down he plunged, turning head over heels, while a whistling wind and the bawl of the engines rang in his ears. The lad had made chute jumps before, and even as he fell, the horrible thought pierced his mind that Kuponos had thrown him to his death already—that the parachute would fail to function! Everything whirled around him. Desperately he yanked at the rip-cord, and—

A sob of relief burst from his tightly strained lips. There came a loud rustling report from somewhere, then a heavy jerk. Midge felt a cold empty sensation around his waistline, as though he had left the major portion of his stomach a long way behind. Then he flashed a hasty glance upwards, and "Saved!" he muttered. Above his red head a graceful yellow canopy gleamed in the sun. The parachute had opened.

And Midge's fervent exclamation was repeated still more fervently by his friends aloft, who had passed through agonies until the parachute opened. Kuponos continued to laugh.

"You cur!" Furiously Len Connor made a belated effort to tackle the Greek, but his legs were cramped and he stumbled. Before he could recover, a hand of steel gripped his arm. Kuponos pulled. Len, like Midge, took a swift and sudden header into the void.

His parachute also opened—Kuponos meant that none of his foes should meet a mercifully quick end. And Professor Flaznagel went next.

"Count five, professor! Then jerk the thumb-ring!" Justice cried hoarsely. And a moment later, without a chance to say farewell, the old scientist hurtled through the door.

O'Mally and Captain Justice looked at each other steadfastly then. Their hands met, tightened strongly, fell apart. In silence the stout Irishman hobbled to the door, heavy jaw out thrust.

“Keep your paws off me, ye smirkin' blackguard!" he growled at Kuponos; and then, calmly, disdainfully, the staunch doctor jumped. He hurtled down, his parachute gushed open—and Justice squared his shoulders. It was his turn at last.

But before the Greek would permit him to leap and get it over, the aeroplane took a final swing, so that the captain had one more glance at his comrades suspended in midair. For a long moment he stared deep into Kuponos' yellow-flecked eyes, and the Greek cringed involuntarily. Another moment, however, and the Greek jerked his thumb downwards.

"Empty-handed, my friend!" he jeered. "Now let's see how the brave, ever resourceful Captain Justice fights the jungle empty-handed! Good-bye, my captain! Good-bye!"

"No! It's au revoir!" rapped Justice significantly and he meant it. Without a tremor, he sprang out after his companions—and the victorious crook's shrill cackle of laughter followed him down.

Six seconds later, five laden parachutes, like great shining toadstools, drifted sluggishly earthwards. Xavier Kuponos' aeroplane dipped in a last derisive salute; then banked and headed back on its return course, leaving Justice & Co. to the mercy of the jungle.

"And that's that! So-long, Greasy, and I hope all your engines conk out!"

Midge, hanging in his harness, sighed and bit his lip deeply. He turned his eyes upon the wilderness below, only to turn them away again hastily. As a last act of defiance, he thumbed his snub nose aggressively at the retreating plane, and, to reassure himself, carefully counted the other parachute's dotting the cloudless sky. All safe, so far, but—Midge forced a wry grin.

"Sensational defeat of Captain Justice—I don't bloomin' well think!" he grunted. "Sufferin' cats, we're certainly strung-up, fed-up, and far from home; and I'm so hungry I could gnaw these straps! But, lumme, while there's life, there's hope! And I'll bet myself a nine-course feed that the skipper gets us out of this mess somehow! And then—" Midge's freckled young face took on a malevolent scowl.

"Then, Mister Xavier Kuponos, we'll jolly well find you again, and rub your Grecian snout in the mud, if we have to walk back, clean across Africa!"

An encouraging hail from Len floated faintly to Midge's ears, and he waved back. Slowly, inexorably, the parachutes, with Captain Justice & Co. beneath them, continued their descent into the primeval jungle.

Xavier Kuponos had carried out his threat!

Marooned in Darkest Africa, the hardest fight of Captain Justice's career is at hand—a fight for existence against all the dangers of the jungle! It's going to be a great fight. Don't miss the opening round in Next Saturday's issue! [Part 2 of 12]