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For the space of a single heartbeat there was not a sound. Lucas stood frozen, the pistol dangling from his lax hand; his face was a mask of horror. Then, from the Mummy, came a sound that froze the blood in my veins. The creature was laughing—howling, rather, with a hideous mirth that resembled the shrieks of a lost soul. Still laughing, it retreated, and none of the horrified watchers moved to prevent it. Even after the thing had vanished from sight around the curve of the cliff, I could hear its ghastly laughter reverberating from the rocky walls.

9

WHEN I reached Walter’s side I found Emerson there before me. Where he had been, or how he had come, I did not know; brain and organs of sight were hazy with horror. Kneeling by his young brother, Emerson ripped the bloodstained shirt away from the body. Then he looked up at Lucas, who had joined us and was staring down at the fallen man.

“Shot in the back,” said Emerson, in a voice like none I had heard from him heretofore. “Your hunting colleagues in England would not approve, Lord Ellesmere.”

“My God,” stammered Lucas, finding his voice at last.

“Oh, God—I did not mean…. I warned him to keep away, he rushed in, I could not help…. For the love of heaven, Mr. Emerson, don’t say he is—he is—”

“He is not dead,” said Emerson. “Do you think I would be sitting here, discussing the matter, if you had killed him?”

My knees gave way. I sat down hard on the warm sand.

“Thank God,” I whispered.

Emerson gave me a critical look.

“Pull yourself together, Peabody, this is no time for a fit of the vapors. You had better see to the other victim; I think she has merely fainted. Walter is not badly hurt. The wound is high and clean. Fortunately his lordship’s weapon uses small-caliber bullets.”

Lucas let out his breath. Some of the color had returned to his face.

“I know you don’t like me, Mr. Emerson,” he said, with a new and becoming humility. “But will you believe me when I say that the news you have just given us is the best I have heard for a long, long time?”

“Hmm,” said Emerson, studying him. “Yes, your lordship; if it is any consolation to you, I do believe you. Now go and give Amelia a hand with Evelyn.”

Evelyn was stirring feebly when we reached her, and when she learned what had happened to Walter she was too concerned about him to think of herself. It is wonderful what strength love can lend; rising up from a faint of terror, she walked at Walter’s side as his brother carried him to his bed, and insisted on helping me clean and dress the wound.

I was relieved to find that Emerson’s assessment was correct. I had not had any experience with gunshot wounds, but a common-sense knowledge of anatomy assured me that the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the right shoulder, without striking a bone.

I had not the heart to send Evelyn away, but really she was more of a handicap than a help; whenever I reached for a cloth or a bandage she was supposed to hand me, I would find her staring bemusedly at the unconscious lad, tears in her eyes and her feelings writ plain on her face for all the world to see. I could hardly blame her; Walter reminded me of the beautiful Greek youth Adonis, dying among the river reeds. He was slight, but his muscular development was admirable; the long lashes that shadowed his cheek, the tumbled curls on his brow, and the boyish droop of his mouth made a picture that must appeal to any woman who is sensitive to beauty and pathos.

Walter was conscious by the time I finished bandaging the wound. He did not speak at first, only watched me steadily, and when I had finished he thanked me with a pallid smile. His first look, however, had been for Evelyn; and having assured himself that she was safe, he did not look at her again. As she turned away with her bowl of water, I saw her lips tremble.

Emerson had produced a new atrocity—a dreadful pipe that smelled like a hot summer afternoon on a poultry farm —and was sitting in a corner puffing out clouds of foul smoke. When I had