Whatever my first impression of the man may have been, certainly nothing occurred during the remainder of the evening to excite distrust. He carried no "side" and treated me with the greatest cordiality. Indeed, there was that about him which gave me satisfaction that he was of my own blood: his was the first low-pitched voice I had heard since I left England!
With this opinion of my relative and host, therefore, I accepted his invitation to continue his guest, and soon, with every sense of fear lulled, was shown to a chamber at the head of the stairs. I respected his sense of delicacy in not mentioning the object of my visit up to that time, and did not refer to it myself for the reason that I did not wish to have him know I had taken such precautions us to conceal the gold about my person.
How long I slept I do not know, but some time must have elapsed, when suddenly I found myself wide awake. I sat up trembling, my hearing alert for the noise that had disturbed me.
Then it came: a faint call, near and yet far distant—like the successful effort of a ventriloquist. It seemed to me that the word I had heard was "Help!"
THOROUGHLY alarmed, I thrust a hand under my pillow: The gold was still there.
I decided to reconnoitre and tip-toed downstairs to the living-room, lighting an occasional wax vesta. I had about concluded that in my nervous condition I was the victim of an hallucination, when my attention was attracted by an antique writing-desk. Something white projected from under the blotter, and quite casually I pulled it out.
It was a letter that had been in the bag snatched from me in New York! The sight of that bit of inanimate evidence—my positive knowledge that it came from the stolen Gladstone, caused my heart to flutter.
To my room I returned, but sleep was not possible, and I relieved the tedium of the wait for daylight by a thorough examination of my quarters.
At seven o’clock there was a rap at the door. An old negress signed for me to follow.
"Good morning," I heard as I entered the dining-room. "I trust you slept well, my cousin?"
The man with the black patch stood by the window, his good eye resting on me.
"Splendidly," I lied.
As we finished breakfast, however, and I made no mention of the purpose of my visit, my host appeared restless. He rose from the table.
"And now," he said, almost sharply, "I assume you have with you the amount of my legacy—one thousand pounds?"
"Sorry," I said, "but I thought it advisable to deposit the gold in a bank at Niagara Falls: the weight of the stuff made traveling tremendously uncomfortable."
He proved to be a consummate actor.
"Of course; of course," he exclaimed, with quick buoyancy, "Let’s not worry about it. We can manage it later."
Twice that day I endeavored to slip away; but each time my host, with a manner disarmingly casual, contrived to join me. On the second occasion, I had reached the road and started for the village when, with profuse apologies for his carelessness, he overtook me. I continued the walk in his company.
It accomplished nothing. Again and again as we passed along the streets of the little town I noted the curious gaze of those we met, and the words of the woman scullion recurred to me. The man with me spoke to no one and no one spoke to him, Meanwhile, he kept up a running fire of comment, his thoughts seeming to race.
"By the way," he exclaimed, as we turned to retrace our steps. "I haven’t shown you my laboratory."
Later, in exhibiting his workshop, he evinced extreme nervousness.
"This eye," he explained, "I lost years ago in an experiment."
At the thought of the sightless socket beneath that black patch I felt it difficult to repress a shudder.
Tha evening with my host did not serve to allay my fears. I had definitely planned to remain and keep awake all night; and in the morning to communicate in any event with the authorities.
During the long hours that followed I lay fully dressed on my bed, revolver in hand; but the vigil was too much for me in my exhausted condition and I finally dozed.
It must have been after two o’clock when I awoke and lay tense; a hand was being moved cautiously back and forth beneath my pillow. The search was thorough, but the gold was not there: it was again fastened about my body. And the owner of the hand seemed to conclude that some other course was necessary, for a moment later I heard him steal out.
As I slid from the bed, there came a sound as if someone had stumbled in the hallway. Instantly it was followed by a horrible shriek—again and again it pierced the air.
The hair of my head stiffened with fear.
Flinging open the door of my room, I could just make out that a terrible struggle was in progress between two men. It continued for a brief bit, and presently I heard a long-drawn sigh; one of the combatants slid to the floor.
I waited no longer, but leaped into the passage-way, my hands extended before me. Suddenly, in the darkness, they touched those of another. He was feeling for me!
We crouched there an instant, each reaching for the other, as in the preliminaries of a wrestling match. His fingers were hot and slippery with moisture. Then he rushed me. The pistol was knocked from my hand, and the next instant the two of us were struggling together.
To and fro we staggered. Finally my feet tripped over the prostrate body of the man on the floor. My adversary and I went down together.
The fall loosened his grip. I was able to breath more freely, and I got a hand on his throat: the other hand wandered about his face, and clutched something.
I shrieked with the horror of it. One of my fingers was digging into the empty socket of a human eye!
Wild with the pain, my antagonist arose sheer from the floor, flinging me off as if I had been a child. An instant later I heard him running down the stairs.
It has been difficult for me since to understand my course that dreadful night. I was insensate. I followed the man with the one eye, for I felt that murder had been done. It was moonlight and I could see him plainly. With incredible swiftness, the fugitive sped over the landscape and made for a trestle which spanned a crevice half a mile in the distance.
I knew that on the opposite side of it was a heavily-wooded stretch and, fearing his escape, I endeavored to head him off. He reached the bridge a few seconds before me, however, and to my horror I saw him poise his body at one side; the next moment he went over.
I think we both screamed then; the one-eyed man as he whirled through the moonlight to his death, and I as I watched him.
Not until daybreak did I come to myself. The soles of my boots were scuffed through, and I seemed to have been running for hours; running to blot out of my vision the sight of that body spinning downward into the abyss—running to brush from the tentacles of my mem--
(Continued on page 88)
