THE CLAWS OF THE CAT
The hoarse voice ceased. Neither Gatton nor I moved or spoke. Then:
"I have three minutes--or less," whispered Damar Greefe. "Question me.
I am at your service."
"Where is your villa?" asked Gatton suddenly.
"It is called The Laurels--"
"The Laurels!" I cried incredulously.
"It is called so," whispered the Eurasian. "It is the last house but
one in College Road! From there I conducted my last experiment with
L.K. Vapor, which resulted not in the death of Mr. Addison, but in
that of Eric Coverly--"
Gatton sprang to his feet.
"Come along, Mr. Addison!" he cried. But:
"The Laurels is empty," came, ever more faintly. "In her Sothic fury,
Nahémah fled. The bloodlust is upon her. I warn you. She is more
dangerous ... than ... any rabid dog.... Tuberculosis will end her
life ... before the snows ... come. But there is time for her to ...
Ah, God's mercy!"
He writhed. He was contorted. Foam appeared Upon his lips.
"_Hlangkûna!"_ he moaned, "_hlangkûna! She_ ... touched me with a
poisoned needle ... _two hours_--ago...."
He rose to his full height, uttered a stifled scream, and crashed down
upon the floor--dead!
In a species of consternation, Gatton and I stood looking at one
another--standing rigidly like men of stone one on either side of that
long, thin body stretched upon my study floor. The hawk face in
profile was startlingly like that of Anubis as it lay against the red
carpet.
Neither of us, I think, was capable of grasping the fact that the
inquiry was all but ended and that the mysteries which had seemed so
dark and insoluble were cleared up and the inner workings of this
strange conspiracy laid bare before us. One thought, I believe, was
uppermost in both our minds: that the man who now lay dead upon the
floor, a victim of one of his own devilish inventions, was no more
than a brilliant madman.
If his great work on the ape-men of Abyssinia and that greater one
dealing with what he called "the _psycho-hybrids_" had ever had
existence outside his own strange imagination no one was ever likely
to know. But that Dr. Damar Greefe was a genius whom much learning had
made mad, neither of us doubted.
The whole thing seemed the wildest phantasy, and, for a time, in
doubting the reality of the Eurasian's work, I found myself doubting
the evidence of my own senses and seriously wondering if this
possessed witch-cat whose green eyes had moved like Satanic lanterns
throughout the whole phantasmagoria, had any more palpable existence
than the other strange things spoken of by the unscrupulous scientist.
That Gatton's thoughts had been running parallel with my own was
presently made manifest, for:
"Without a moment's delay, Mr. Addison," he said, speaking like a man
newly awakened from slumber, "we must proceed to The Laurels and test
the truth of what we have heard."
He crossed to the door, threw it open, and:
"Sergeant!" he cried. "Come in! The prisoner is dead!"
As the sergeant and the constable who were waiting came into the study
and stood looking in stupefaction at the body stretched on the floor,
I heard the telephone bell ring. I started nervously. That sound
awakened ghastly memories, and I thought of the man who only a few
hours before had met his death in the room where now the bell was
ringing its summons.
I doubted if I could ever spend another night beneath that roof, for
here Dr. Damar Greefe, the arch-assassin, and one of his victims both
had met their ends. I heard the voice of Coates speaking in the
adjoining room, and presently, as Gatton went to the door:
"Miss Merlin wishes to speak to you, sir," said Coates.
I ran eagerly to the 'phone, and:
"Hello!" I cried. "Is that you, Isobel?"
"Yes!" came her reply, and I noted the agitation in her voice. "I am
more dreadfully frightened than I have ever been in my life. If only
you were here! Is it possible for you to come at once?"
"What has alarmed you?" I asked anxiously.
"I can't explain," she replied. "It is a dreadful sense of
foreboding--and all the dogs in the neighborhood seem to have gone
mad!"
"Dogs!" I cried, a numbing fear creeping over me. "You mean that they
are howling?"
"Howling!" she answered. "I have never heard such a pandemonium at any
time. In my present state of nerves, Jack, I did the wrong thing in
coming to this funny lonely little house. I feel deserted and hopeless
and, for some reason, in terrible danger."
"Are you _alone_, then?" I asked, in ever growing anxiety.
To my utter consternation:
"Yes!" she replied. "Aunt Alison was called away half an hour ago--to
identify some one at a hospital who had asked for her--"
"What! an accident?"
"I suppose so."
"But the servants?"
"Cook left this morning. You remember Aunt told you she was leaving."
"There is the girl, Mary?"
"Aunt 'phoned for her to join her at the hospital!"
"What! I don't understand! _'Phoned_, you say? Was it Mrs. Wentworth
_herself_ who 'phoned?"
"No; I think not. One of the nurses, Mary said. But at any rate, she
has gone, Jack, and I'm frightened to death! There's something else,"
she added.
"Yes?" I said eagerly.
She laughed in a way that sounded almost hysterical.
"Since Mary went I have thought once or twice that I have seen some
one or something creeping around outside the house in the shadows
amongst the trees! And just a while ago something happened which
really prompted me to 'phone you."
"What was it?"
"I heard a sort of scratching at an upper window. It was just like--"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Like a great _cat_ trying to gain admittance!"
"See that all the doors and windows are fastened!" I cried. "Whatever
happens or whoever knocks don't open to any one, you understand? We
will be with you in less than half an hour!"
Still in that frightened voice:
"For heaven's sake," she begged, "don't be long, Jack!..."
I became aware of a singular rasping sound on the wires, which
rendered Isobel's words almost unintelligible. Then:
"Jack," I heard, in a faint whisper, "there is a strange noise ...
just outside the room...."
Silence came. But, vaguely, above that rasping sound, I had detected
the words: "Cutting ... telephone ... wires...."
I replaced the receiver. My hand was shaking wildly.
"Gatton!" I said, "do you understand? _It_ has turned its attention
to Miss Merlin!" Then, raising my voice: "Coates!" I cried, "Coates!
run for the car! Hurry, man! Some one's life depends on your speed!"
Inspector Gatton grabbed the telephone directory.
"I will instruct the local police," he muttered. "Give me the exact
address, Mr. Addison, and go and see the cab that's outside. If it's a
good one we'll take it instead of waiting."
Out I dashed, spurred by a sickly terror, crying Mrs. Wentworth's
address as I ran. And of the ensuing five minutes I retain nothing but
chaotic memories: the bewildered cabman; the police bending over the
gaunt form on my study floor; Gatton's voice shouting orders. Then, we
had jumped into the cab and enjoining the man to drive like fury, were
speeding off through the busy London streets. Leaving the quietude of
one suburb for the maelstrom of central London, we presently emerged
into an equally quiet backwater upon the Northerly outskirts.
It was a nightmare journey, but when at last we approached the house
for which we were bound my apprehension and excitement grew even
keener. It was infinitely more isolated and lonely than I had ever
realized, behind its high brick walls.
Of the local police there was no sign. And without hesitation we ran
in at the open gate and up the path towards the porch. Every window in
the house was brightly illuminated, testifying to the greatness of the
occupant's fear. Gaining the porch, we stopped, as if prompted by some
mutual thought, and listened.
There was the remote murmuring of busy London, but here surrounding us
was a stillness as great as that which prevailed in my own
neighborhood; and as we stood there, keenly alert--distinctly we both
heard the howling of dogs!
"You hear it?" rapped Gatton.
"I do!" I replied.
Grasping the bell-knob, I executed a vigorous peal upon the bell.
There was a light in the hallway but my ringing elicited no response,
until:
"My God, look!" cried Gatton.
He pulled me backward out of the porch, looking upward to the window
of a room on the first floor.
A silhouette appeared there--undoubtedly that of Isobel. She seemed to
be endeavoring to pull the curtain aside ... when the shadow of a long
arm reached out to her, and she was plucked irresistibly back. The
sound of a muffled scream reached my ears, and:
"Great heavens! _It_ has got in!" whispered Gatton.
He raised his hand and the shrill note of a police whistle split the
silence.
The closed door was obviously too strong to be forced without the aid
of implements for the purpose, and we began to run around the house,
looking for some means of entrance. Suddenly:
"There's the way!" said Gatton, and pointed up to where the branches
of an old elm tree stretched out before a window. The glass of the
window was entirely shattered except for some few points which
glittered like daggers around the edges of the frame.
"Can you do it?"
"In the circumstances--yes!" I said.
Without more ado I began to climb the elm, stimulated by memories of
how I had entered Friar's Park. It afforded little foothold for the
first six feet and proved an even tougher job than I had anticipated,
but at last I reached a projecting limb, the bulk of which had been
sawn off. Gatton's agility was not so great as mine, but at the moment
that I half staggered and half fell into the room, I heard him
swinging himself onto the limb behind me so that as I leaped to the
open door he came tumbling in through the window, and the pair of us
raced side by side along the corridor towards an apartment facing
front from which horrifying cries and sounds of conflict now arose.
Gaining the closed door of this room, I literally hurled myself upon
it. It crashed open ... and I beheld a dreadful spectacle.
Isobel lay forced back upon a settee which occupied the window
recess--and bending over her, having her back turned towards me, was a
tall, lithe, black-clad woman who, so far as I could see, was
clutching Isobel's throat and forcing her further backward--backward
upon the cushions strewn upon the settee!
But instant upon the door's opening this horrible scene changed. With
never a backward glance (so that neither Gatton nor I had even a
momentary glimpse of her face) the black-robed woman sprang to the
window, opened it in a moment, and to my dismay and astonishment
sprang out into the darkness!
My first thought was for Isobel--but Gatton leaped across the room and
craned out, peering on to the path below. Indeed, even as I dropped on
my knees beside the swooning girl, I found myself listening for the
thud of the falling body upon the gravel path. But no sound reached
me. That uncanny creature must have alighted truly in the manner of a
cat. Through the stillness of the house rang the flat note of a
police-whistle. From some distant spot I heard a faint reply.
* * * * *
For long I failed to persuade myself that Isobel had not sustained
some ghastly injury from the attack of the cat-woman. Memories uprose
starkly before me of that _hlangkûna_ and the other dreadful
death-instruments of the mad Eurasian doctor. Not even the assurances
of the local medical man who had been summoned in haste could convince
me. For I recognized how petty was his knowledge in comparison with
that of Dr. Damar Greefe. But although I trembled to think what her
fate might have been if we had arrived a few minutes later, the fact
remained (and I returned thanks to Heaven) that she had escaped
serious physical injury at the hands of her assailant.
But, alas, to this very hour she sometimes awakes shrieking in the
night. And her terrified cry is always the same: "The green eyes of
Bâst!... the green-eyes of Bâst!"