 African drums are talking. Over weary wastes of belt and jungle, the drums bring you a story of Africa. Africa, that land of mystery and strange ritual, ebony bodies, witch doctors and sudden death. The land of jungle and impenetrable swamp, where the primeval sweat of mother earth rises in myasmic clouds of fever-ridden paper, to hang suspended in the foliage of the ageless guardians of the jungle. This is the story of a little band of explorers led by Professor Anton Edwards, a giant of a man, the keynote of whose life is scientific discovery. 200 miles from the banks of the upper Congo River in the jungles of French equatorial Africa, Professor Edwards has made his camp awaiting the coming of the distance before traveling farther into the hinterlands. With him is his daughter Lorna, just graduated from an American university, and an guru, a huge native messiah of royal blood. It is night in the African jungle. Why don't we do something with stockings? Oh, Lorna, you mustn't let that sort of thing get on your nerves. We're in Africa, my dear, not New York. We must adjust ourselves accordingly. Yes, I know all that, but the things of third, whoever heard of a severed head talking and setting up a cackle like that. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't even countenance the thought. It's against all the laws of nature we've been taught to revere. As I said before, my dear, this is Africa. Anything can happen. The only way to keep one's sanity is to accept Africa, and Africa will accept you. Yes, I suppose so. I must admit, when the witch doctor brought this preserved head out and it started cackling and mumbling, I was shocked. Then I thought it was a type of ventriloquism. But the head had been brought more than a hundred miles away from the man who gave it to you, and it still keeps up its absurd chatter. Yes. So I've accepted it as part of this countenance and cease to wonder. Yes, what is it on Goro? Well, now, white man we watch, he comes... Look at Jack! Yes, my dear. Jack is one whole day ahead of regular traveling time. Good. He must have heard some river stories and heard. Come, come, those carriers. Hey, Baraki, back there one time and fetch him quick. Jack! Oh, no. I'm not here. I'm not here. Hello, Jack. Hello, you're a day ahead of yourself, aren't you? Yes, I moved as fast as I could, professor. But how did you know I was ahead of schedule? I didn't contemplate joining you for another week until I heard some... Until you heard some talk down the river, huh? And at the fork of the mobangi you left the boat, gathered a few natives together, and made a safari as fast as you could to get the truth of the matter. Well, bush telegraph, eh? Precisely. Oh, this place is as bad as Heckville. You can't turn around without the news being broadcast to every native in the country. It has its uses, my boy. Those drums are the newspapers of Africa. Well, I suppose you're tired. Come on in the tent and have something. Oh, Lord, will you get that bottle out of the special case? Yes, Father. His night air isn't any too good for a tired body. Do you have any trouble on the way in? No, sir, nothing to worry about. The natives were extraordinarily helpful. In fact, just a little too much so. Each village insisted on sending a guide with me up to the next headman's territory. And there was another one waiting to take over from him on the trail. I meant to ask you about that. Has someone been giving them a course in courtesy or something? I've never encountered that sort of helpfulness before. No, I've had the same treatment, Jack. And it's not natural. But I think I know what's behind it. I'll tell you about it later. Anyhow, I'm glad you're here. But I wish the heaven I hadn't brought Launa. Why do you say that, sir? Have you had any trouble? No. No, that's just it. If I had experienced the ordinary inconveniences of bush travel, I'd be unconcerned. But it's just as if we were expected. With someone at the end of the trail waiting to welcome us with open arms. Tell you frankly, I'm worried. Oh, that's your daughter. I'm not bothered her with it. Oh my, but it's good to see you sitting there, Jack. I swear, if you'd waited another week, you'd have found me a nervous wreck. Why? Don't you like this country? I don't know if I do or not. There's so many inexplicable things happening around here. Things that your common sense tells you are impossible. With your eyes and ears tells you differently. Well, that's Africa, my dear. But what sort of things do you mean? Well, for instance... Oh look, Lord, what's that? What is it? Launa, stop trembling like that. Tell me what that means. Go to heaven, child. Get hold of yourself. Professor, can't you... Oh Jack, don't shake me like that. I'm all right now. Only if just as it's the thing you are, we're going to talk about it. What thing? What do you... Oh, then it is true. Those river stories weren't lying. Good Lord, Professor, you found it. You found the talking head. Yes, Jack, I found it. I knew you'd hear of it before you reached here. The river boys were talking about it. But then they've done that for years. Then my native couriers started chatting about the white men who had the talking head. I didn't realize it was you, sir. Sometimes I wish to heaven I hadn't found it. It's so horribly impossible. Yet? There the evidence sits in the other tent and the... Oh, it's ghastly, Jack. A head, a severed human head, whizzing and shriveled with an awful perpetual grin. And it keeps mumbling a lot of incoherent gibberish to itself. Oh, it's horrible. Tell me about it, sir. May I go and see it? No, not now. I'd rather you'd see it first of all by daylight. It's gruesome enough then, but by lamp light it's impossible. How did you come across it? Purely by accident. You know, for the last century, stories have been cropping up all over Africa about a talking head. Yes. A whisper here and a whisper there. Nothing definite at all. Yes, I know. Well, about seven years ago, I was up on the Mongola River territory with Professor Lamberti. That's the man you exposed for fraud, isn't it? The most unfortunate occurrence but my duty. Well, while there, I shot a python that had dropped from a tree and quarreled around an unfortunate native. The natives worship these great snakes in some part, don't they, Father? Yes, and it turned out that this particular spot was one of them. Consequently, we had to do some fast traveling to get out alive. Well, how about this native you saved? Was he one of them? No, no, he was no witch doctor from another tribe. But he was doing so far away from whom I never did find out. But he was so infinitely grateful to me. I had a hard time dissuading him from attaching himself to me permanently. Yes, they do get that way sometime. I very extracted a promise from me to visit him. I finally did so a month ago. I was only just in time for the old fellow died the next day. When I ended the village, I was taken straight to his hut. He was badly wasted in making no struggle to live but he knew the animals. The seventh year has passed, white man. Since now and I have looked upon each other. Therefore, art thou seven times more welcome. Old man of wisdom, the intervening years have taken my feet into many strange places. But always has my heart remembered its promise. It is well. For now may I pass to my ancestors with a light heart. Yet there is a destiny to be fulfilled before I may look into their eyes fearlessly. Listen carefully, white man. I listen, my friend. Many years ago, before the white man brought his floating house to the rivers. A white warrior whose brain was touched by the gods wandered into the village of my people. His speech to us was that of the monkeys. But his strength was that of the gorilla. At certain seasons of the moon, he would summon the devils of the forest and hold speech with them. But only his eyes could behold them. You've heard this story, white man. From the mouths of the ignorant only. This man led my people in battle. He was greatly feared. One day he lay sleeping in the forest. A warrior from another tribe crept upon him and killed him. Taking only the head is a trophy. But the head refused to die. And the warrior in his terror dropped it and took flight. That head has been preserved, white man. For it is written that you shall take it back to its people. For the legend says that only then will the spirit compose itself to rest. So that's how you got it, sir? Yes. Yes, I promised to take it before seeing the thing. Probably if I'd waited, I'd have had nothing to do with it. It's really horrible. Oh, dear. What's the matter, Launa? Oh, just a little tired, I guess. I think I'll turn in for the night. All right, my dear. I'll go and see that your quarters are ready. I see the professor still makes a personal inspection of quarters every night. Yes, he always does. Have you been getting plenty of sleep, Launa? You don't look as well as you might. Oh, Jack, you don't know what a relief it is to have you here. There's something wrong with this place. Something I'm sure father knows nothing about. Why? What do you mean, dear? Your father knows this country better than anyone. Is anything wrong? Oh, nothing really, I suppose. But I have the most horrible feeling of depression at times. It's just as if there was something out there in the bush calling me. Something terrible dragging in my brain. And I had the most awful temptation to walk out of camp alone. Great, Scott, dear. Whatever you do, don't do that. If there's anything harmful around here, you're safe while in camp. But by yourself, well... I know, Jack, but the feeling's gotten so bad that I have to... Oh, hi, dear father. Yeah? Quarters are all set, my dear. Good night, Launa. Good night, father. Good night, Jack, dear. Good night, dear. You know, sir, I don't think Launa's looking as well as she might. There's something worrying. Well, she hasn't a care in the world. No. No, it's in here, Jack. I have something to tell you. Won't it keep until morning, sir? I'm rather tired. I'd like to give you the news now so you can digest it by morning. Okay, sir. Shoot. I believe I have the first piece of definite knowledge as to the whereabouts of that mythical race of people called the Golden Race. You've heard this story as the natives tell of them, the terrific people, no sickness, incredible learning. We've always put it down as another African myth because no trace has ever been found of them. Do you mean to say you really believe these stories, professor? No. I don't believe the stories the natives tell, my boy. But I believe what the talking head told me a week ago. Good Lord, sir. That's... Listen, that's Launa. Come quick. Something's happened to her.