At the treehouse, Summerlee fussed with his paints, forgotten these past days as he tended his companions. He happily contemplated which specimen to illustrate, finally settling on a fern. This variation of Rhodea had been extinct for some 300 million years and the fossils didn’t do the delicate coloration justice.

Challenger sat nearby reviewing his research notes as he decided where to pick up on his work that had fallen by the wayside. He was beginning to lose faith that improving balloon travel would help them escape the plateau, however it might make surveying and studying the terrain easier. Of course then he still had several experiments with pharmaceuticals to begin all over again. The periodic observations had been foregone when he was ill. It might be wise to get them underway once more.

Marguerite, on the bench by the balcony railing, idly turned the pages of the French history book that lay on her lap. Unable to concentrate, she wasn’t reading. Nebulous worries nagged at her. Sewing that had been awaiting her attention these past two weeks lay nearby, neglected. She lacked the patience for that as well. Her eyes were focused on the electric fence that guarded the treehouse. Her rifle was within arm’s reach. She wished Roxton, Veronica, and Malone were safely back at the treehouse.

Her vigilance was rewarded as the Count and her friends came into view. Marguerite started as she watched Roxton stumble slightly through the gate of the perimeter fence. From the distance she couldn’t see any obvious wound. He steadied himself, but she still waited impatiently for the elevator to bring up the four.

The hunting party stepped off the elevator. Ned held aloft two birds by the feet.

“You had excellent luck today, Roxton.” Challenger looked up from his notes to greet their arrival.

“Roxton only shot one of them. Sándor bagged the other.” Veronica announced proudly. The Count gloated slightly at her words.

Roxton gave a quiet smile as he stowed his hat and guns on the rack by the elevator. He stretched a bit and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“You have a remarkable range of talents, Count,” Challenger remarked with abstract curiosity. He was more interested in the birds brought back, studying them for classification. The Count smiled and inclined his head.

“Did you hurt yourself today, Count? Would you like me to look at it?” Summerlee offered kindly as he gestured to the Count’s fingers still wrapped in the makeshift bandage.

“Please let him, Sándor. I feel so guilty. It was all my fault.” Veronica looked distressed at the reminder of the morning’s accident.

“It was a minor thing, I should not have been taken unawares. You should not fret over it.” The Count was pleased with Veronica’s solicitousness.

“I don’t mind,” Summerlee persisted. He wiped his paint-splattered hands on a nearby rag.

“No, no, too much has been made of it. It is perfectly fine.” He stepped away from the elderly botanist. Looking to change the subject he asked, “How are your patients, Professor?”

“They seem fully recovered, just regaining their strength.” Summerlee began to inspect the birds Ned had laid on the table used for food preparation.

Veronica wandered to the balcony to look out over the jungle. Ned trailed behind her, hoping for a word.

Marguerite joined Roxton as he headed towards the stairs to lower level. “Are you all right, John?” Her hand rested on his upper arm. She kept her voice low.

He covered her hand with his own. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t sleep that well.” He, too, spoke quietly, unwilling to draw the attention of the others.

“I’m not surprised. A chair doesn’t make much of a bed,” Marguerite remarked astringently. Roxton grinned at her ruefully, unsurprised that she’d been aware of his late night vigil, and started down the stairs. He didn’t see the perplexed frown that covered her face as she noticed the Count watching Roxton from across the room. It didn’t make sense but the word that popped into her mind as she saw Sándor’s expression was hunger.

On the balcony Veronica and Ned were arguing in hushed tones.

“I’m telling you, Veronica, we don’t know enough about this guy.”

“He saved us from those raptors, he’s been nothing but polite. He even helped out with dinner.” Veronica pointed out things that made Sándor perfect in her eyes.

“Why did he save us? That’s what I’d like to know. What was his real reason?” Ned’s misgivings made his tone more blunt than he would have liked.

“Why does anyone do anything to help someone else? You and Roxton have saved people in trouble. Did you expect something from them?” The jungle girl was quietly furious at the reporter’s suspicions. Especially since she could still see in her mind’s eye, Ned nearly being the main course of a raptor’s meal. It was thanks to Sándor that he was still here.

“Of course not, but you have to admit that on the plateau usually you don’t find people like that.” Malone winced after he said that, realizing the inherent criticism of her home.

“I helped you out when I first met you; did you suspect me of anything?” Veronica stopped for a moment and continued more slowly. “Look, Ned, I’ve talked to him. He’s a cultured gentleman. He knows a lot about music and composers. He’s well read. He likes paintings, art. He treats me like a lady, just as I’ve read about in the books. He hasn’t tried to impose himself on anyone. And he certainly has shown he can take care of himself in the jungle. He’s not asked anyone here for anything.”

Ned was silent. He felt himself at a disadvantage as Veronica rattled off this litany of Sándor’s virtues.

Marguerite stood at the head of the stairs watching their guest and the other members of the treehouse thoughtfully. Sándor turned to talk to Challenger, unconcerned or unaware of Marguerite’s scrutiny. Seeing the others occupied, the linguist slipped downstairs to assure herself of her lover’s well being.

Noiselessly she entered Roxton’s room to find him already stretched out on his bed, only his boots removed. Sleepily his eyes opened.

“What happened out there today, John?”

“Just what you heard. I gave him a gun, he made several impressive shots. Seemed to demonstrate a bit more awareness of the jungle than I expected.” Roxton covered his mouth as he yawned. The hunter was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

Marguerite brows drew close as she thought about what Roxton said.

“We’re missing something here.”

But Roxton had no comment. He’d dozed off again. She had no more time to pursue her idea as she heard a shout from outside.