English fiction; Horror tales, English; Short stories, English
In the silence of the night I could distinctly hear that someone was
coming down the corridor. It was a stealthy step, faint and
intermittent, as of a man who paused cautiously after every stride.
Sometimes for half a minute there was no sound, and then came the
shuffle and creak which told of a fresh advance. My companion was
trembling with excitement. His hand which still held my sleeve twitched
like a branch in the wind.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“It’s he!”
“Sir Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“Hush! Do nothing until I tell you.”
I was conscious now that someone was trying the door. There was the
faintest little rattle from the handle, and then I dimly saw a thin slit
of subdued light. There was a lamp burning somewhere far down the
passage, and it just sufficed to make the outside visible from the
darkness of our room. The greyish slit grew broader and broader, very
gradually, very gently, and then outlined against it I saw the dark
figure of a man. He was squat and crouching, with the silhouette of a
bulky and misshapen dwarf. Slowly the door swung open with this ominous
shape framed in the centre of it. And then, in an instant the crouching
figure shot up, there was a tiger spring across the room, and thud,
thud, thud, came three tremendous blows from some heavy object upon the
bed.
I was so paralyzed with amazement that I stood motionless and staring
until I was aroused by a yell for help from my companion. The open door
shed enough light for me to see the outline of things, and there was
little Lord Linchmere with his arms round the neck of his
brother-in-law, holding bravely on to him like a game bull-terrier with
its teeth into a gaunt deerhound. The tall, bony man dashed himself
about, writhing round and round to get a grip upon his assailant; but
the other, clutching on from behind, still kept his hold, though his
shrill, frightened cries showed how unequal he felt the contest to be. I
sprang to the rescue, and the two of us managed to throw Sir Thomas to
the ground, though he made his teeth meet in my shoulder. With all my
youth and weight and strength, it was a desperate struggle before we
could master his frenzied struggles; but at last we secured his arms
with the waist-cord of the dressing-gown which he was wearing. I was
holding his legs while Lord Linchmere was endeavouring to relight the
lamp, when there came the pattering of many feet in the passage, and the
butler and two footmen, who had been alarmed by the cries, rushed into
the room. With their aid we had no further difficulty in securing our
prisoner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the ground. One glance at his
face was enough to prove that he was a dangerous maniac, while the
short, heavy hammer which lay beside the bed showed how murderous had
been his intentions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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