His eyelids fell at last, his long lashes rested on his brown cheek. The hurrying patter outside ceased. If any one looked with wild incredulity through the open jalousy Heriot did not see them; if softly and soundlessly something slipped in and crept behind his chair he did not hear, or know what curved, crooked fingers itched to clutch at his throat, and yet were kept from it by a cunning mind. The man was asleep; would stay asleep till--something woke him. A minute later Heriot opened his eyes, and leaped to his feet as one who shakes off a dream at a half-heard sound. Had he seen, for one second, a face, jeering and malicious, glance back at him from the door into the passage? And did he see that door closing softly now? And did he hear quite close, and coming nearer, quick, yelping whines, as of beasts hunting? Heriot rushed to the open jalousy, tore it to him and barred it; shut and locked the window into the room. And not an instant too soon, for something soft, yet tremendously heavy, had hurled itself against his jalousy; but the good wood held. “The jaguars! It was true, then,” he thought almost unconsciously, for there was no time for thinking when something worse than a jaguar was on its way to those two defenseless women up-stairs. Regardless of his lameness, he raced up-stairs. There were lights everywhere, and perfect silence everywhere, too. Had he dreamed that evil, fleering face--that misshapen body, with its crooked claws of hands? A scream, so wild and dreadful in that lonely house that it turned his blood to fire, answered him. Yet the thrilling note of it was rage--not fear! “All right!” he shouted; “I’m coming!” and ran in the direction of the sound. Andria Erle, white as ashes, her teeth showing as her lips curled back from them, was half-facing him, as she threw Beryl back through a half-open door. As Heriot ran to her she banged it to, and shut it on the girl; and then he saw what sickened him. There were hands like claws clasped round Mrs. Erle’s bare throat, and a monster that bit buried in the nape of her lovely neck. “Bolt the door, Beryl--quick!” her voice came choked. “Never mind--me!” Heriot’s arms shot over her shoulder as she spoke. But he missed the ghastly thing that clung around her. He jumped to drag it off her, but it eluded him; with the noiseless spring of a cat it had dropped to the ground and vanished somewhere in the winding passage. Andria panted desperately. “Beryl is all right,” she said. “He can’t get at her. Beryl, can you let us in?” “Yes. Oh, Andria!” in anguish, “no! The bolt’s stuck.” “Don’t move it, then.” Andria was trembling from head to foot. “Lock your window. Is Salome there?” “Yes, missus! Wait, we’ll get you in.” “No!” with authority. “I’m all right; Mr. Heriot’s here. Don’t open that door, Salome, till I tell you to. Promise!” “I can’t open it,” said the black woman with despair. “Oh, Miss Holbeach! Run somewhere--quick! He’s in; he’ll let dem in!”