Adventure stories; Fiction; Mystery fiction; Short stories
‘O Harry, Harry,’ she cried, ‘how you shame me! But this is the God’s
truth. I am a dangerous and wicked girl. My name is Clara Luxmore. I
was never nearer Cuba than Penzance. From first to last I have cheated
and played with you. And what I am I dare not even name to you in words.
Indeed, until to-day, until the sleepless watches of last night, I never
grasped the depth and foulness of my guilt.’
The young man looked upon her aghast. Then a generous current poured
along his veins. ‘That is all one,’ he said. ‘If you be all you say,
you have the greater need of me.’
‘Is it possible,’ she exclaimed, ‘that I have schemed in vain? And will
nothing drive you from this house of death?’
‘Of death?’ he echoed.
‘Death!’ she cried: ‘death! In that box that you have dragged about
London and carried on your defenceless shoulders, sleep, at the trigger’s
mercy, the destroying energies of dynamite.’
‘My God!’ cried Harry.
‘Ah!’ she continued wildly, ‘will you flee now? At any moment you may
hear the click that sounds the ruin of this building. I was sure M’Guire
was wrong; this morning, before day, I flew to Zero; he confirmed my
fears; I beheld you, my beloved Harry, fall a victim to my own
contrivances. I knew then I loved you—Harry, will you go now? Will you
not spare me this unwilling crime?’
Harry remained speechless, his eyes fixed upon the box: at last he turned
to her.
‘Is it,’ he asked hoarsely, ‘an infernal machine?’
Her lips formed the word ‘Yes,’ which her voice refused to utter.
With fearful curiosity, he drew near and bent above the box; in that
still chamber, the ticking was distinctly audible; and at the measured
sound, the blood flowed back upon his heart.
‘For whom?’ he asked.
‘What matters it,’ she cried, seizing him by the arm. ‘If you may still
be saved, what matter questions?’
‘God in heaven!’ cried Harry. ‘And the Children’s Hospital! At whatever
cost, this damned contrivance must be stopped!’
‘It cannot,’ she gasped. ‘The power of man cannot avert the blow. But
you, Harry—you, my beloved—you may still—’
And then from the box that lay so quietly in the corner, a sudden catch
was audible, like the catch of a clock before it strikes the hour. For
one second the two stared at each other with lifted brows and stony eyes.
Then Harry, throwing one arm over his face, with the other clutched the
girl to his breast and staggered against the wall.
A dull and startling thud resounded through the room; their eyes blinked
against the coming horror; and still clinging together like drowning
people, they fell to the floor. Then followed a prolonged and strident
hissing as from the indignant pit; an offensive stench seized them by the
throat; the room was filled with dense and choking fumes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account