He heard a sliding noise upon the wall in a line with the spot where
his face reached, and he fancied that it was varied now and again by
something else which sounded like the light touch of fingers tapping
on that wall.
"Whoe'er it is," he said to himself, suddenly recognising what that
scraping sound, interrupted by an occasional touch on the wall, was,
"he feels his way carefully. Let me be ready to greet him--ah!" he
ejaculated, lunging out straight before him with his sword, though
piercing nothing. "Ah!"
Fingers had passed across his face: an instant later something long
and hairy had swept across his left hand, even as he lunged with his
right: still a moment later the sound of a figure springing down the
wide staircase fell on his ears; and, ere another moment had elapsed,
he was springing after it.
But, even as he did go, he muttered to himself:
"This is not Francbois! He had no beard. Who, then, is it? Ah!
Sparmann perchance!"
CHAPTER XIX.
Some hours after the morning had broken grey and desolate, but with
still a promise in the heavens that the storms of the night were past,
Bevill Bracton arose from the great lounge in the hall on which he had
laid himself down and on which he had been enabled to snatch some
broken rest. For it was six o'clock ere he had deemed it prudent to
attempt this, and he had not even then done so until he had satisfied
himself that, whosoever the man might be whose hand had passed across
his face and whose beard had swept over his disengaged hand, he was
not present in the house now.
While, however, discovering this to be the case, he had made discovery
of something else. He had found signs that this man had not been the
only visitor to the Weiss Haus beside himself, but that there had been
another. Also, he had arrived at the conclusion that each of the men
had come here on some secret purpose unknown to the other, and that
they had met in the dark and had fought with each other. What that
purpose was might not be hard to discover, he thought, yet, even so,
he could not resolve why, if both of these intruders were his enemies,
they should have come into deadly contact with each other. But that
this had been the case there was no room left for doubt.
After chasing down the great staircase the form of the man whose hand
had crept over his face, he had, notwithstanding the fact of his
having locked the door at the end of the lone passage, missed his
quarry. In the darkness of the night that quarry had evaded him; in
the coming of the dawn he knew that it had done so effectively. He
made sure, in the grim light of the dayspring, that the house was
absolutely empty of all human existence except his own, doing so by
going into every apartment, large and small, that it contained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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