As Paul O’Donnell stood by the rail of the ship that had brought him to Haiti, the tiny rowboat putting him out from the shore was already carrying the first hints of the danger and tragedy lying in wait for him. Five minutes after landing he was enmeshed in a frightful web of political intrigue, fomented by voodoo fanaticism and unscrupulous ambition, led by the hatred and ferocity of a beautiful and diabolic woman, and roused to bloody action by the throbbing, jungle rhythm of the drums of Dambala, the voodoo Snake-God.
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