Читать книгу Wadsworth Camp Mysteries - Charles Wadsworth Camp - Страница 21

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Although he shivered with cold Miller felt the perspiration spring out on his forehead. He struck the match and held it to the candles. The arabesques appeared to twist and twine more violently. The odour from the paper seemed more pungent in spite of the open window. The dripping ceased. He glanced at the floor near the head of the bed, but he saw nothing. It was several minutes before he realised it was Molly who had screamed.

He threw on his clothes, picked up a candle, snatched his revolver from beneath the pillow, and stepped to the hall.

Molly’s cry had not been repeated, but something was moving at the foot of the stairs, and he could hear thick breathing. He paused before the door, open a little as Molly had promised. He was afraid to knock, afraid to ask. Finally he forced the words.

“Andy! Molly called—”

Molly’s voice, still a little choked, came to him.

“There’s something in this room.”

Miller pushed the door open.

“Wait!” Anderson commanded in a level, lifeless voice. ” There’s danger. I said the circle was closing. It is closing.”

Miller paused on the threshold. Molly sat up in bed, a dressing gown thrown over her shoulders. Anderson leaned on his elbow.

“Don’t come in, Jim,” he said. “Listen!”

Miller looked around the room. He spoke reassuringly.

“There’s no one—nothing.”

“Listen!” Anderson repeated.

Miller heard nothing, so after a moment he stepped into the room. Then he heard—a sound like shot shaken in a crimper.

“They’re daring,” Anderson said dreamily. “I knew they were growing daring. I was afraid they were getting ready—”

“Andy!” Miller cried. “Pull yourself together!”

He held his revolver in front of him and stooped. He looked under the bed, in the four corners. He could see nothing, but the rattle was repeated.

“You two get out of here,” he whispered. “It’s safe to step down on this side. But hurry. Get to the hall.”

When they had obeyed him he arose, followed them, and closed the door. The rattling came again, apparently from just within the room, yet Miller had seen no snake.

Shaking his head, he led them down the stairs. He found Tony, lying on the steps half way up. The man raised his bearded face to the candle, mouthing horribly.

“I tried to come,” he muttered, “I tried—”

“You’re not hurt?” Miller asked sharply.

Tony shook his head. He crept backwards down the stairs, his face turned to the light.

The diningroom fire smouldered. As he entered Miller felt a cold breath on his cheek. He hurried through to the kitchen. After a moment he called :

“Tony! Did you open this window?”

He came back.

“Open of those windows—you saw me close it and lock it. You must have opened it, Tony.”

Vehemently the native shook his head.

“Did you hear anything come through here?”

“All night,” Tony answered, pointing to the hall door,” something moving—walking out there.”

“And the window in your bedroom,” Miller said to Anderson. “That was open, too, but it’s high and on the side.”

“Jim, remember you didn’t see anything,” Anderson said softly.

“I’m going through this house from top to bottom,” Miller said determinedly. “I shan’t sleep again until I know. Make yourselves as comfortable as possible here. Molly, fill that lamp. Let’s start this fire up.”

He stopped and threw a log on the andirons.

“Did you hear?” Molly asked under her breath.

Still stooping. Miller turned to her. She had assumed again that tense, listening pose.

“What?” he asked.

She put her finger on her lips.

“Outside. Wait. It may come again.”

Taut and expectant they waited for several minutes, hearing only the crackling of the fresh log and the moaning of the wind in the chimney. Then Molly raised her hand. A quavering voice reached them, very faintly.

Miller sprang to his feet.

“Stay here,” he said.

He ran to the hall, drawing his revolver from his pocket.

“Jim!” Molly cried. ” Where are you going?”

“Don’t come, Andy,” he called,” unless I shout.”

He flung the front door open and ran into the clearing.

Momentarily the moon swayed free of its enveloping clouds. Abruptly the tiny section of the inlet flashed back its light. There, in a frame of trees with a background of black and ragged dunes, stood the fisherman on the deck of his rotten tub—gigantic, statuesque.

Immediately the clouds snatched the moon back to their obscure embrace. The picture snapped out.

The wind strained and tore past Miller. He could scarcely keep his eyes open to its fury. But he started across the clearing towards the path, for he fancied even in this darkness there was something there at the edge of the clearing. He raised his revolver. He crept forward, muttering to the night :

“Come out! Whoever you are don’t try to run back. Come out! Come out!”

A figure threw itself against him and raised warm hands to his face. His arm with the revolver dropped.

“You—” he began.

“I have been at the edge of the forest,” the girl said.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To tell you to go back. Last night—remember. Tonight you must run this way. The island is not safe.”

“Why?” he said. “I shall not run.”

“Yes. You must run to the river. You cannot go back this way. You cannot get to the inlet. I didn’t think I could get through, but I got through to tell you that. Run to the river. It may be safe there.”

“For God’s sake,” he begged, “tell me what it is.”

“The island is full of death tonight.”

“Then go to the house. Take the Andersons to the river. There’s a boat there.”

“Come with me.”

“No. I shall stay and fight this death. I have to know what it is. Don’t be afraid for me.”

He could feel her trembling beneath her heavy black cloak. She dragged at his arm.

“No, no. I love you. I will leave the island with you.”

By sheer strength she pulled him a step or two backwards.

“You have lied to me,” she said fiercely. “If you loved me you couldn’t question now.”

Suddenly her face was etched against the darkness. A blue gleam seemed to play over it, to disclose its tortured, passionate terror.

And, as she pulled at his arm, the light reached her wrists. Her wrists were torn and bleeding.

Miller grasped them with a cry and turned. Above the dangerous forest floated a pallid, unnatural light. It was blue. It wavered. It increased. It seemed to fill the sky.

The girl sank to the ground. He tried to raise her, but she drew back.

“It is too late,” she said in a dead voice. “You wouldn’t listen. There is no hope now.”