I shuddered at the horrible fate to which those scoundrels had
abandoned me.
Again the cruel flat head of the snake darted forth viciously to
within a single inch of my left cheek. I tried to draw back, but to
move was impossible, held as I was by that leathern collar, made
expressly for securing the head immovable.
My eyes were fixed upon the steady candle-flame. It was burning lower
and lower each moment. I watched it in fascination. Each second I grew
nearer that terrible, revolting end.
What had happened to Sylvia? I strained my ears to catch any further
sound. But there was none. The house was now silent as the grave.
That pair of scoundrels had stolen my cheque, and in the morning,
after my death, would cash it and escape with the proceeds!
I glanced around that weird room. How many previous victims had sat in
that fatal chair and awaited death as I was waiting, I wondered? The
whole plot betrayed a devilish ingenuity and cunning. Its very
character showed that the conspirators were no ordinary
criminals--they were past-masters in crime.
The incidents of the night in London are too often incredible. A man
can meet with adventures in the metropolis as strange, as exciting and
as perilous as any in unknown lands. Here, surely, was one in point.
I remember experiencing a strange dizziness, a curious nausea, due,
perhaps, to the fact that my head lay lower than my body. My thoughts
became muddled. I regretted deeply that I had not signed the cheque
and saved Sylvia. Yet were they not absolute blackguards? Would they
have kept faith with me?