Thoughts of Sylvia--that strange, sweet-faced girl of my dreams--filled my senses. Those shrieks resounded in my ears. She had cried for help, and yet I was powerless to rescue her from the hands of that pair of h.e.l.l-fiends.
I struggled, and succeeded in moving slightly.
But the snake, maddened by its bond, struck again at me viciously, his darting tongue almost touching my shrinking flesh.
A blood-red mist rose suddenly before my eyes. My head swam. My overwrought brain, paralyzed by horror, became unbalanced. I felt a tightness in the throat. In my ears once again I heard the hiss of the loathsome reptile, a venomous, threatening hiss, as its dark shadow darted before me, struggling to strike my cheek.
Through the red mist I saw that the candle burned so low that the edge of the wax was on a level with the green silk cord, that slender thread which withheld Death from me.
I looked again. A groan of agony escaped me.
Again the angry hiss of the serpent sounded. Again its dark form shot between my eyes and the unflickering flame of the candle.
That flame was slowly but surely consuming the cord!
I shrieked for help in my abject despair.
The mist grew more red, more impenetrable. A lump arose in my throat, preventing me from breathing.
And then I lapsed into the blackness of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM
When, by slow degrees, I became aware of things about me, I found myself in total darkness, save that, straight before my eyes, some few feet away, showed a thin, narrow line of light.
Next second, a flood of the most horrible recollections surged through my brain. I dare not move a muscle, fearing that the reptile was lurking near my face. My senses seemed dulled and dazed, yet my recollections were quite clear. Every detail of those moments of awful terror stood out clear and fearsome in my mind.
Slowly, so slow, indeed, as to be imperceptible, I managed to turn my head aside, and glance at the small table. But it was in darkness. I could distinguish nothing. To my surprise, I discovered, however, that though I still remained in that position, my legs higher than my head, yet the arms of the chair had unclasped, and my bonds had been freed!
What had happened?
In fear of bringing the watchful reptile upon me, I moved slightly.
But there was no movement from that table in the darkness.
I waited, dreading lest I should be suddenly attacked. Then, summoning courage, I suddenly sprang out of the chair on the side opposite the table, and dashed across to where showed that narrow streak of light.
I saw that it came through the lower crevice of the heavy wooden shutters. With frantic haste my hands slid over them. I found an iron bar, and, this unlatched, I threw them back, and let in the broad light of day.
For a moment my eyes were dazzled by the sunlight.
Then, on looking behind me, I saw that upon the table the candle had burned itself to its socket, while on the floor, near by, lay the small black reptile stretched out motionless.
I feared at first to approach it. To its tail the cord was still attached, but it had been severed. I crept towards it, and, bending down, realized with great relief that it was dead.
The leathern collar which had secured my head had been loosened and the mechanism of the chair reversed, allowing me my freedom. I looked around the room in wonder. There stood the littered card-table and the empty gla.s.ses of the previous night, while the air was still heavy with the odour of stale cigars.
Making quite certain that the reptile was dead, I turned my attention to the chair, and noted how cleverly the devilish mechanism had been hidden. It could, as I had suspected, be worked from without. The victim, once seated there, had no chance whatever of escape.
In the light of day, the room--that fatal apartment wherein more than one innocent man had, no doubt, met with a horrible end--looked very shabby and dingy. The furniture was cheap and tawdry, and the carpet very dirty.
There, upon the card-table, stood the ink, while the pen used by Reckitt lay upon the floor. My wallet lay open near by. I took it up quickly to glance through its contents. As far as I could discover, nothing had been taken except the cheque I had written out, believing I was to a.s.sist Jack Marlowe.
Eagerly I glanced at my watch, and found it was already a quarter past ten.
The scoundrels had, no doubt, already been to the bank, cashed my cheque, and were by this time clear away!
Remembering Sylvia, I drew my revolver, which still remained in my hip-pocket, and, finding the door unlocked, went forth to search for her. The fact that the door was now unlocked showed that some one had entered there during my unconsciousness, and released me. From the appearance of the snake, it seemed to have been killed by a sharp blow across its back.
Some one had rescued me just in the nick of time.
I entered the front room on the same floor, the room whence those woman"s screams had emanated. It was a big bare drawing-room, furnished in the ugly Early Victorian style, musty-smelling and moth-eaten. The dirty holland blinds fitted badly and had holes in them; therefore sufficient light was admitted to afford me a good view of the large apartment.
There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet perfume of the flowers.
Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked?
I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman"s hair. Did it belong to her?
In vain I looked around for a candle--for evidences of the same mediaeval torture to which I had been submitted, but there were none.
In fear and trepidation I entered yet another room on the same floor, but it was dusty and neglected--a kind of sitting-room, or perhaps boudoir, for there was an old-fashioned high-backed piano in it. Yet there was no sign that anybody had entered there for weeks--perhaps for months. In the sunlight, I saw that there were cobwebs everywhere.
Surely it was a very strange house. It struck me that its owner had perhaps died years ago, and since then it had remained untenanted.
Everywhere the style of furniture was that of sixty years ago, and thick dust was covering all.
On entering the previous night I had not noticed this, but now, in the broad light of day, the place looked very different. I saw, to my surprise, that the windows had not been cleaned for years, and that cobwebs hung everywhere.
Revolver in hand, I searched the place to the bas.e.m.e.nt, but there was no evidence of occupation. The doors of the kitchens had not, apparently, been opened for years!
Upstairs, the bedrooms were old-fashioned, with heavy hangings, grey with dust, and half hidden by festoons of cobwebs. In not a single room was a bed that had been slept in. Indeed, I question if any one had ascended to the second floor for several years!
As I stood in one of the rooms, gazing round in wonder, and half suffocated by the dust my footsteps had disturbed, it suddenly occurred to me that the pair of a.s.sa.s.sins, believing that I had died, would, no doubt, return and dispose of my body. To me it seemed certain that this was not the first occasion that they had played the dastardly and brutal game. Yes, I felt positive they would return.
I searched the place to find a telephone, but there was none. The bogus message sent to me had been sent from elsewhere.
The only trace of Sylvia I could find was that piece of velvet ribbon, the embroidery which had so hastily been flung down, and the bowl of fresh roses.
Why had she been there? The book and the embroidery showed that she had waited. For what? That bowl of roses had been placed there to make the room look fresh, for some attempt had been made to clean the apartment, just as it had been made in the room wherein I had suffered such torture.
Why had Sylvia uttered those screams of horror? I recollected those words of hers. I recognized her voice. I would, indeed, have recognized it among the voices of a thousand women.
I returned to the drawing-room, and gazed around it in wonder. If, as it seemed, Reckitt and Forbes had taken unlawful possession of an untenanted house, then it was probable they would not return to get rid of my remains. The whole affair was incomprehensible. It seemed evident that Sylvia had not fallen a victim to the vengeance of the pair, as I had feared, but that perhaps I had owed my life to her.
Could it be that she had learned of my peril, released me, killed the venomous reptile, and escaped?