now in the room with me!
I peered into the darkness left of the big, littered table. Something was approaching the bed… going, I thought, on all fours.
Definitely, the approaching was oblique—that is, not in my direction. I was conscious of a shock of relief. I had not been seen.
Something glittered dully in the reflected light, and I heard a faint swishing sound, almost the first, expecting the thud, which had betrayed the presence of this nocturnal assassin.
At first it puzzled me, and then, suddenly, to my mind an explanation sprang.
The creature was spraying the bed...
Ideas quickly associated themselves; for at this same moment there was swept to my nostrils an almost overpowering perfume of mimosa—the same that had haunted poor Van Berg’s room.
It was some unfamiliar but tremendously potent anaesthetic.
In the instant that realisation came to me, I knew also that the horrible visitor was not a supernatural creature but human. True, his agility was far above the ordinary, and his powers of silent movement were uncanny.
He was evidently armed with some kind of spray; and during the time that its curiously soothing sound continued, I found, so oddly does the mind react to indefinable fear, that my thoughts had wandered. I was thinking about an account I had once read of a mysterious creature known as Spring-heeled Jack, who terrorised outlying parts of London many years ago.
For the fact remained that this man, now endeavouring to reduce the occupant of the bed to unconsciousness, could apparently spring to high windows, quite beyond the reach of any human jumper, and indeed, beyond the reach of any member of the animal kingdom!
The swishing sound ceased. Absolute silence followed...
Peer intensely as I would, I could detect no trace of another presence in the room. But I knew exactly what was happening. The unimaginable man who had come through the window was crouching somewhere and listening. Probably he was counting, silently, knowing how many seconds must elapse before the unknown drug which smelled like mimosa could reduce the sleeper to unconsciousness—or, perhaps, bring about death...
Distant though I was from the bed, that sickly sweet odour was making me dizzy.
Fully a minute elapsed. No sound could I hear; nor could I detect a movement. But during that age-long minute I observed a vague white patch in the darkness, and presently I identified it. It was made by the initials painted on the green iron box.
And as I watched, this white patch became obscured.
A sound disturbed that all-but-insufferable silence—a sound of heavy breathing. Then, silhouetted against the window… I saw the intruder.
I saw a small, lithe body, muscular arms uplifted, the green box born upon the right shoulder.
My hand trembled upon the trigger, but Nayland Smith’s instructions had been definite. The man bore the box to the end of the room. Here, shadow from the cupboard swallowed him up. Preceded by very little noise the square outline of the box now appeared upon the top of the cupboard.
He had raised it above his head and placed it there, by which circumstances, since he appeared to be a small man, I was able to judge of his extraordinary strength.
My heart was beating very fast and I realised that I was holding my breath. I inhaled deeply, watching, now, the square of the opened window. A silhouetted arm appeared above the box, then a shoulder, and finally the whole of a lean body.
The midnight visitor was a Negro, or a member of some very dark race, wearing only a black loincloth: his features I could not see.
His movements interested me intensely. Stooping, he bent over the box. Certain metallic sounds told me that the iron handles at either end were being moved.
Then, as I watched... the box disappeared!
The black man alone, a crouching silhouette, remained outlined in the open window. The box had gone; incredible fact—but the box had gone! Silently, save for a distant thud that heavy iron
I peered into the darkness left of the big, littered table. Something was approaching the bed… going, I thought, on all fours.
Definitely, the approaching was oblique—that is, not in my direction. I was conscious of a shock of relief. I had not been seen.
Something glittered dully in the reflected light, and I heard a faint swishing sound, almost the first, expecting the thud, which had betrayed the presence of this nocturnal assassin.
At first it puzzled me, and then, suddenly, to my mind an explanation sprang.
The creature was spraying the bed...
Ideas quickly associated themselves; for at this same moment there was swept to my nostrils an almost overpowering perfume of mimosa—the same that had haunted poor Van Berg’s room.
It was some unfamiliar but tremendously potent anaesthetic.
In the instant that realisation came to me, I knew also that the horrible visitor was not a supernatural creature but human. True, his agility was far above the ordinary, and his powers of silent movement were uncanny.
He was evidently armed with some kind of spray; and during the time that its curiously soothing sound continued, I found, so oddly does the mind react to indefinable fear, that my thoughts had wandered. I was thinking about an account I had once read of a mysterious creature known as Spring-heeled Jack, who terrorised outlying parts of London many years ago.
For the fact remained that this man, now endeavouring to reduce the occupant of the bed to unconsciousness, could apparently spring to high windows, quite beyond the reach of any human jumper, and indeed, beyond the reach of any member of the animal kingdom!
The swishing sound ceased. Absolute silence followed...
Peer intensely as I would, I could detect no trace of another presence in the room. But I knew exactly what was happening. The unimaginable man who had come through the window was crouching somewhere and listening. Probably he was counting, silently, knowing how many seconds must elapse before the unknown drug which smelled like mimosa could reduce the sleeper to unconsciousness—or, perhaps, bring about death...
Distant though I was from the bed, that sickly sweet odour was making me dizzy.
Fully a minute elapsed. No sound could I hear; nor could I detect a movement. But during that age-long minute I observed a vague white patch in the darkness, and presently I identified it. It was made by the initials painted on the green iron box.
And as I watched, this white patch became obscured.
A sound disturbed that all-but-insufferable silence—a sound of heavy breathing. Then, silhouetted against the window… I saw the intruder.
I saw a small, lithe body, muscular arms uplifted, the green box born upon the right shoulder.
My hand trembled upon the trigger, but Nayland Smith’s instructions had been definite. The man bore the box to the end of the room. Here, shadow from the cupboard swallowed him up. Preceded by very little noise the square outline of the box now appeared upon the top of the cupboard.
He had raised it above his head and placed it there, by which circumstances, since he appeared to be a small man, I was able to judge of his extraordinary strength.
My heart was beating very fast and I realised that I was holding my breath. I inhaled deeply, watching, now, the square of the opened window. A silhouetted arm appeared above the box, then a shoulder, and finally the whole of a lean body.
The midnight visitor was a Negro, or a member of some very dark race, wearing only a black loincloth: his features I could not see.
His movements interested me intensely. Stooping, he bent over the box. Certain metallic sounds told me that the iron handles at either end were being moved.
Then, as I watched... the box disappeared!
The black man alone, a crouching silhouette, remained outlined in the open window. The box had gone; incredible fact—but the box had gone! Silently, save for a distant thud that heavy iron
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