• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

"Pray heaven it is not too late!" he murmured, and kept on fanning, watching the white lips and delicate nostrils, so drawn and livid. "We must try artificial respiration," he said, after a moment. "But not here--this atmosphere is stifling. Take her feet, Lester."

We staggered out with her, somehow, across the hall, into her room, and laid her on her bed. Godfrey, kneeling above her, began to raise and lower her arms, with a steady, regular rhythm.

"Open the windows wide," he commanded, without looking up. "Wet a towel, or something, in cold water, and bring it here."

Simmonds threw open the windows, while I went mechanically to the bath-room, wet a towel, and slapped it against her face and neck as Godfrey directed. The moments passed, and at last the lips opened in a fluttering sigh, the bosom rose with a full inhalation, and a spot of colour crept into either cheek.

"Thank God!" said Godfrey, in a voice that was almost a sob. "Now, Simmonds, go out and bring that Irish girl, and send one of your men to 'phone for Hinman."

Simmonds sent one of his men scurrying with a word, and himself dashed up the stairs to the other floor. He was back in a moment, almost dragging the frightened girl with him. Her teeth were chattering and she started to scream when she saw that still form on the bed, but Simmonds shook her savagely.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Godfrey assured her. "Your mistress isn't dead--she'll soon come around. But you must get her undressed and to bed. And then keep bathing her face with cold water till the doctor comes. Understand?"

"Ye--yes, sir," faltered the girl. "But--oh!" and a burst of hysterical sobbing choked her.

Simmonds shook her again.

"Don't be a fool, Annie Crogan!" he said. "Get hold of yourself!"

Godfrey stepped off the bed and picked up one of the limp wrists.

"Her pulse is getting stronger," he said, after a moment. "It will soon--hello, what's this!"

Clasped tight in the slender fingers was something that looked like a torn and crumpled rubber glove. He tried to unclasp the fingers, but when he touched them, they contracted rigidly, and a low moan burst from the unconscious girl. So, after a moment, he desisted and laid the hand down again.

"You understand what you're to do?" he asked the maid, and she nodded mutely. "Then come along, boys," he added, and led the way back to the hall. His face was dripping with perspiration and his hands were shaking, but he managed to control them. "And now for Senor Silva," he said, in another tone, taking the torch from my hand. "I fear he will have a rude awakening."

"He sat there like a statue, even when I shot the snake," remarked Simmonds. "He's a wonder, he is."

"Yes," agreed Godfrey, as he stepped into the entry, "he's a wonder." Then he stopped, glanced around, and turned a stern face on Simmonds. "Where's the man I left on guard here?" he asked.

"Why," faltered Simmonds, "I remember now--he helped us carry the young lady. But we were all right there in the hall--you don't mean ..."

Godfrey stepped to the inner door and flashed his torch about the room. The divan was empty.

Simmonds paused only for a single glance.

"He can't be far away!" he said. "He can't get away in that white robe of his. Come along, Tom!" and, followed by his assistant, he plunged down the stairs.

I saw Godfrey half-turn to follow; then he stopped, ran his hand along the wall inside the door, found the button, and turned on the lights. His face was pale and angry.

"It's my fault as much as anyone's," he said savagely. "I might have known Silva would see the game was up, and try to slip away in the excitement. I ought to have kept an eye on him."

"Your eyes were fairly busy as it was," I remarked. "Besides, maybe he hasn't got away."

Godfrey's face, as he glanced about the room, showed that he cherished no such hope.

"Let's see what happened to Mahbub," he said. "Maybe he got away, too," and he crossed to the inner door.

The flame in the brazier had died away, and the smoke came only