The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5998]
Simmonds saw it too, and retreated a step.
"We'd better keep out of there," he gasped, "till that little pet's put away in his basket."
But Godfrey seized his arm and dragged him back to the threshold of the door.
"Look, Simmonds," he cried, rubbing his dripping eyes fiercely, "there against the wall?--is there something there--or is it just the smoke?"
I looked, too, but at first saw nothing, for a cloud of smoke rolled down and blotted out the light from Godfrey's torch. Then it swirled aside, and against the farther wall I fancied I saw something--a shape, a huddled shape--grotesque--horrible, somehow....
I heard Godfrey's startled cry, saw his hand swing up, saw a tongue of yellow flame leap from his revolver.
And with the echo of the shot, came a scream--a scream piercing, unearthly, of terror unspeakable....
I saw the Thug spring into the air, his face distorted, his mouth open--I saw him tearing at something that swung from his neck--something horrible, that clung and twisted....
He tore the thing loose--it was only an instant, really, but it seemed an age--and, still shrieking, flung it full at us.
I was paralysed with terror, incapable of movement, staring dumbly--but Godfrey swept me aside so sharply that I almost fell.
And that foul shape swished past us, fell with a thud, and was lost in the darkness.
CHAPTER XXIV
KISMET!
Words cannot paint the nauseating horror of that moment. Fear--cold, abject, awful fear--ran through my veins like a drug; my face was clammy with the sweat of utter terror; my hands clutched wildly at some drapery, which tore from its fastenings and came down in my grasp....
Three shafts of lights swept across the floor, and almost at once picked up that horrid shape. It was coiled with head raised, ready to strike, and I saw that one side of its hood had been shot away.
I have, more than once, referred to Simmonds as hard-headed and wanting in imagination--not always, I fear, in terms the most respectful. For that I ask his pardon; I shall not make that mistake again. For, in that nerve-racking moment, he never lost his coolness. Revolver in hand, he crept cautiously forward, while we others held our breath; then the pistol spoke, one, twice, thrice, and the ugly head fell forward to the floor.
At the same moment, Godfrey sprang to the door from which volumes of heavy, scented smoke still eddied, and disappeared inside.
I scarcely noticed him; I was staring at that foul object on the floor; and then I stared at Francisco Silva, motionless on the divan, his eyes fixed on the crystal sphere, undisturbed amid all this terror and tumult. It is impossible for me to remember him, as he was in that moment, without admiration--yes, and a little awe.
But Godfrey's voice, shrill with excitement, brought me around with a start.
"Lester!" he shouted. "Lend a hand here!"
Wondering what new horror lay in wait, I fought my way into the other room, stumbled over the body of the Thug, barely saved myself, my scalp prickling with terror, from falling upon it, and pitched forward to where Godfrey was bending above that huddled shape I had glimpsed through the smoke.
"Catch hold!" he panted; and choking, staggering, suffocating, we dragged it into the outer room. "Get a window open!" he gasped. "Get a window open!"
And Simmonds, whom nothing seemed to shake, groped along the wall until he found a window, pulled the hangings back, threw up the sash, and flung back the shutters.
"Quick!" said Godfrey. "Over there. Now hold the torch."
And as I took it and pressed the button with a trembling finger, the halo of light fell upon a bloodless face--the face of Marjorie Vaughan.
Simmonds was supporting her, and Godfrey, with frantic fingers, was loosening her robe at the throat. My terrified eyes, staring at that throat, half-expected to find a cruel mark there, but its smoothness was unsullied. The robe loosened, Godfrey snatched his