Instantly a brilliant band of light shot across the room, wavered, wagged to and fro—then settled upon Godfrey bending above some shapeless object on the floor.
“What is it?” I cried, running to him, shivering with horror.
“It’s Tremaine,” and he knelt on the floor and stripped back the clothing from the breast “He’s dead,” he added after a moment.
“Dead? But why? How?”
He was in pajamas—I can see them yet—striped blue and white…
Then I heard Godfrey’s voice again.
“My God!” he was saying, with an accent of utter horror. “My God! Bring the light closer, Simmonds!”
I looked down, too. The face was in bright relief now—but was it Tremaine? Could it be Tremaine? That staring, distorted thing, with wide-open mouth? Then my eyes fell on the hand, clasped across the breast…
“What is it?” I asked again, inarticulately, frozen with dread. “What has happened?”
I saw Godfrey stand erect with a sudden movement of loathing.
“It’s the fer-de-lance!” he said hoarsely. “He’s been bitten by it. And it’s still loose in the room somewhere!”
