Detective and mystery stories, English; Horror tales, English
A step sounded in the stone-flagged passage, and the creature had
sprung to his feet, and was pacing up and down the narrow cage, his
yellow eyes gleaming, and his scarlet tongue rippling and quivering
over the white line of his jagged teeth. A groom entered with a coarse
joint upon a tray, and thrust it through the bars to him. He pounced
lightly upon it, carried it off to the corner, and there, holding it
between his paws, tore and wrenched at it, raising his bloody muzzle
every now and then to look at us. It was a malignant and yet
fascinating sight.
"You can't wonder that I am fond of him, can you?" said my host, as we
left the room, "especially when you consider that I have had the
rearing of him. It was no joke bringing him over from the centre of
South America; but here he is safe and sound--and, as I have said, far
the most perfect specimen in Europe. The people at the Zoo are dying
to have him, but I really can't part with him. Now, I think that I have
inflicted my hobby upon you long enough, so we cannot do better than
follow Tommy's example, and go to our lunch."
My South American relative was so engrossed by his grounds and their
curious occupants, that I hardly gave him credit at first for having
any interests outside them. That he had some, and pressing ones, was
soon borne in upon me by the number of telegrams which he received.
They arrived at all hours, and were always opened by him with the
utmost eagerness and anxiety upon his face. Sometimes I imagined that
it must be the Turf, and sometimes the Stock Exchange, but certainly he
had some very urgent business going forwards which was not transacted
upon the Downs of Suffolk. During the six days of my visit he had never
fewer than three or four telegrams a day, and sometimes as many as
seven or eight.
I had occupied these six days so well, that by the end of them I had
succeeded in getting upon the most cordial terms with my cousin. Every
night we had sat up late in the billiard-room, he telling me the most
extraordinary stories of his adventures in America--stories so
desperate and reckless, that I could hardly associate them with the
brown little, chubby man before me. In return, I ventured upon some of
my own reminiscences of London life, which interested him so much, that
he vowed he would come up to Grosvenor Mansions and stay with me. He
was anxious to see the faster side of city life, and certainly, though
I say it, he could not have chosen a more competent guide. It was not
until the last day of my visit that I ventured to approach that which
was on my mind. I told him frankly about my pecuniary difficulties and
my impending ruin, and I asked his advice--though I hoped for something
more solid. He listened attentively, puffing hard at his cigar.
"But surely," said he, "you are the heir of our relative, Lord
Southerton?"
"I have every reason to believe so, but he would never make me any
allowance."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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