“His larder is just outside here,” said he. “You will excuse me for an
instant, won’t you?” He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp
metallic click behind him.
That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terror
passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned me
cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the inner side.
“Here!” I cried. “Let me out!”
“All right! Don’t make a row!” said my host from the passage. “You’ve
got the light all right.”
“Yes, but I don’t care about being locked in alone like this.”
“Don’t you?” I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. “You won’t be alone
long.”
“Let me out, sir!” I repeated angrily. “I tell you I don’t allow
practical jokes of this sort.”
“Practical is the word,” said he, with another hateful chuckle. And then
suddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creak and whine of
the winch-handle turning, and the rattle of the grating as it passed
through the slot. Great God, he was letting loose the Brazilian cat!
In the light of the lantern I saw the bars sliding slowly before me.
Already there was an opening a foot wide at the farther end. With a
scream I seized the last bar with my hands and pulled with the strength
of a madman. I _was_ a madman with rage and horror. For a minute or more
I held the thing motionless. I knew that he was straining with all his
force upon the handle, and that the leverage was sure to overcome me. I
gave inch by inch, my feet sliding along the stones, and all the time I
begged and prayed this inhuman monster to save me from this horrible
death. I conjured him by his kinship. I reminded him that I was his
guest; I begged to know what harm I had ever done him. His only answers
were the tugs and jerks upon the handle, each of which, in spite of all
my struggles, pulled another bar through the opening. Clinging and
clutching, I was dragged across the whole front of the cage, until at
last, with aching wrists and lacerated fingers, I gave up the hopeless
struggle. The grating clanged back as I released it, and an instant
later I heard the shuffle of the Turkish slippers in the passage, and
the slam of the distant door. Then everything was silent.
The creature had never moved during this time. He lay still in the
corner, and his tail had ceased switching. This apparition of a man
adhering to his bars and dragged screaming across him had apparently
filled him with amazement. I saw his great eyes staring steadily at me.
I had dropped the lantern when I seized the bars, but it still burned
upon the floor, and I made a movement to grasp it, with some idea that
its light might protect me. But the instant I moved, the beast gave a
deep and menacing growl. I stopped and stood still, quivering with fear
in every limb. The cat (if one may call so fearful a creature by so
homely a name) was not more than ten feet from me. The eyes glimmered
like two discs of phosphorus in the darkness. They appalled and yet
fascinated me. I could not take my own eyes from them. Nature plays
strange tricks with us at such moments of intensity, and those
glimmering lights waxed and waned with a steady rise and fall. Sometimes
they seemed to be tiny points of extreme brilliancy—little electric
sparks in the black obscurity—then they would widen and widen until all
that corner of the room was filled with their shifting and sinister
light. And then suddenly they went out altogether.
The beast had closed its eyes. I do not know whether there may be any
truth in the old idea of the dominance of the human gaze, or whether the
huge cat was simply drowsy, but the fact remains that, far from showing
any symptom of attacking me, it simply rested its sleek, black head upon
its huge forepaws and seemed to sleep. I stood, fearing to move lest I
should rouse it into malignant life once more. But at least I was able
to think clearly now that the baleful eyes were off me. Here I was shut
up for the night with the ferocious beast. My own instincts, to say
nothing of the words of the plausible villain who laid this trap for me,
warned me that the animal was as savage as its master. How could I stave
it off until morning? The door was hopeless, and so were the narrow,
barred windows. There was no shelter anywhere in the bare, stone-flagged
room. To cry for assistance was absurd. I knew that this den was an
outhouse, and that the corridor which connected it with the house was at
least a hundred feet long. Besides, with that gale thundering outside,
my cries were not likely to be heard. I had only my own courage and my
own wits to trust to.
And then, with a fresh wave of horror, my eyes fell upon the lantern.
The candle had burned low, and was already beginning to gutter. In ten
minutes it would be out. I had only ten minutes then in which to do
something, for I felt that if I were once left in the dark with that
fearful beast I should be incapable of action. The very thought of it
paralyzed me. I cast my despairing eyes round this chamber of death, and
they rested upon one spot which seemed to promise I will not say safety,
but less immediate and imminent danger than the open floor.
I have said that the cage had a top as well as a front, and this top was
left standing when the front was wound through the slot in the wall. It
consisted of bars at a few inches’ interval, with stout wire netting
between, and it rested upon a strong stanchion at each end. It stood now
as a great barred canopy over the crouching figure in the corner. The
space between this iron shelf and the roof may have been from two to
three feet. If I could only get up there, squeezed in between bars and
ceiling, I should have only one vulnerable side. I should be safe from
below, from behind, and from each side. Only on the open face of it
could I be attacked. There, it is true, I had no protection whatever;
but, at least, I should be out of the brute’s path when he began to pace
about his den. He would have to come out of his way to reach me. It was
now or never, for if once the light were out it would be impossible.
With a gulp in my throat I sprang up, seized the iron edge of the top,
and swung myself panting on to it. I writhed in face downwards, and
found myself looking straight into the terrible eyes and yawning jaws of
the cat. Its fetid breath came up into my face like the steam from some
foul pot.
It appeared, however, to be rather curious than angry. With a sleek
ripple of its long, black back it rose, stretched itself, and then
rearing itself on its hind legs, with one fore paw against the wall, it
raised the other, and drew its claws across the wire meshes beneath me.
One sharp, white hook tore through my trousers—for I may mention that I
was still in evening dress—and dug a furrow in my knee. It was not meant
as an attack, but rather as an experiment, for upon my giving a sharp
cry of pain he dropped down again, and springing lightly into the room,
he began walking swiftly round it, looking up every now and again in my
direction. For my part I shuffled backwards until I lay with my back
against the wall, screwing myself into the smallest space possible. The
farther I got the more difficult it was for him to attack me.
He seemed more excited now that he had begun to move about, and he ran
swiftly and noiselessly round and round the den, passing continually
underneath the iron couch upon which I lay. It was wonderful to see so
great a bulk passing like a shadow, with hardly the softest thudding of
velvety pads. The candle was burning low—so low that I could hardly see
the creature. And then, with a last flare and splutter it went out
altogether. I was alone with the cat in the dark!
It helps one to face a danger when one knows that one has done all that
possibly can be done. There is nothing for it then but to quietly await
the result. In this case, there was no chance of safety anywhere except
the precise spot where I was. I stretched myself out, therefore, and lay
silently, almost breathlessly, hoping that the beast might forget my
presence if I did nothing to remind him. I reckoned that it must already
be two o’clock. At four it would be full dawn. I had not more than two
hours to wait for daylight.
Outside, the storm was still raging, and the rain lashed continually
against the little windows. Inside, the poisonous and fetid air was
overpowering. I could neither hear nor see the cat. I tried to think
about other things—but only one had power enough to draw my mind from my
terrible position. That was the contemplation of my cousin’s villainy,
his unparalleled hypocrisy, his malignant hatred of me. Beneath that
cheerful face there lurked the spirit of a mediæval assassin. And as I
thought of it I saw more clearly how cunningly the thing had been
arranged. He had apparently gone to bed with the others. No doubt he had
his witnesses to prove it. Then, unknown to them, he had slipped down,
had lured me into this den and abandoned me. His story would be so
simple. He had left me to finish my cigar in the billiard-room. I had
gone down on my own account to have a last look at the cat. I had
entered the room without observing that the cage was opened, and I had
been caught. How could such a crime be brought home to him? Suspicion,
perhaps—but proof, never!
How slowly those dreadful two hours went by! Once I heard a low, rasping
sound, which I took to be the creature licking its own fur. Several
times those greenish eyes gleamed at me through the darkness, but never
in a fixed stare, and my hopes grew stronger that my presence had been
forgotten or ignored. At last the least faint glimmer of light came
through the windows—I first dimly saw them as two grey squares upon the
black wall, then grey turned to white, and I could see my terrible
companion once more. And he, alas, could see me!
It was evident to me at once that he was in a much more dangerous and
aggressive mood than when I had seen him last. The cold of the morning
had irritated him, and he was hungry as well. With a continual growl he
paced swiftly up and down the side of the room which was farthest from
my refuge, his whiskers bristling angrily, and his tail switching and
lashing. As he turned at the corners his savage eyes always looked
upwards at me with a dreadful menace. I knew then that he meant to kill
me. Yet I found myself even at that moment admiring the sinuous grace of
the devilish thing, its long, undulating, rippling movements, the gloss
of its beautiful flanks, the vivid, palpitating scarlet of the
glistening tongue which hung from the jet-black muzzle. And all the time
that deep, threatening growl was rising and rising in an unbroken
crescendo. I knew that the crisis was at hand.
It was a miserable hour to meet such a death—so cold, so comfortless,
shivering in my light dress clothes upon this gridiron of torment upon
which I was stretched. I tried to brace myself to it, to raise my soul
above it, and at the same time, with the lucidity which comes to a
perfectly desperate man, I cast round for some possible means of escape.
One thing was clear to me. If that front of the cage was only back in
its position once more, I could find a sure refuge behind it. Could I
possibly pull it back? I hardly dared to move for fear of bringing the
creature upon me. Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand forward until it
grasped the edge of the front, the final bar which protruded through the
wall. To my surprise it came quite easily to my jerk. Of course the
difficulty of drawing it out arose from the fact that I was clinging to
it. I pulled again, and three inches of it came through. It ran
apparently on wheels. I pulled again ... and then the cat sprang!
It was so quick, so sudden, that I never saw it happen. I simply heard
the savage snarl, and in an instant afterwards the blazing yellow eyes,
the flattened black head with its red tongue and flashing teeth, were
within reach of me. The impact of the creature shook the bars upon which
I lay, until I thought (as far as I could think of anything at such a
moment) that they were coming down. The cat swayed there for an instant,
the head and front paws quite close to me, the hind paws clawing to find
a grip upon the edge of the grating. I heard the claws rasping as they
clung to the wire netting, and the breath of the beast made me sick. But
its bound had been miscalculated. It could not retain its position.
Slowly, grinning with rage and scratching madly at the bars, it swung
backwards and dropped heavily upon the floor. With a growl it instantly
faced round to me and crouched for another spring.
I knew that the next few moments would decide my fate. The creature had
learned by experience. It would not miscalculate again. I must act
promptly, fearlessly, if I were to have a chance for life. In an instant
I had formed my plan. Pulling off my dress-coat, I threw it down over
the head of the beast. At the same moment I dropped over the edge,
seized the end of the front grating, and pulled it frantically out of
the wall.
It came more easily than I could have expected. I rushed across the
room, bearing it with me; but, as I rushed, the accident of my position
put me upon the outer side. Had it been the other way, I might have come
off scathless. As it was, there was a moment’s pause as I stopped it and
tried to pass in through the opening which I had left. That moment was
enough to give time to the creature to toss off the coat with which I
had blinded him and to spring upon me. I hurled myself through the gap
and pulled the rails to behind me, but he seized my leg before I could
entirely withdraw it. One stroke of that huge paw tore off my calf as a
shaving of wood curls off before a plane. The next moment, bleeding and
fainting, I was lying among the foul straw with a line of friendly bars
between me and the creature which ramped so frantically against them.
Too wounded to move, and too faint to be conscious of fear, I could only
lie, more dead than alive, and watch it. It pressed its broad, black
chest against the bars and angled for me with its crooked paws as I have
seen a kitten do before a mouse-trap. It ripped my clothes, but, stretch
as it would, it could not quite reach me. I have heard of the curious
numbing effect produced by wounds from the great carnivora, and now I
was destined to experience it, for I had lost all sense of personality,
and was as interested in the cat’s failure or success as if it were some
game which I was watching. And then gradually my mind drifted away into
strange, vague dreams, always with that black face and red tongue coming
back into them, and so I lost myself in the nirvana of delirium, the
blessed relief of those who are too sorely tried.
Tracing the course of events afterwards, I conclude that I must have
been insensible for about two hours. What roused me to consciousness
once more was that sharp metallic click which had been the precursor of
my terrible experience. It was the shooting back of the spring lock.
Then, before my senses were clear enough to entirely apprehend what they
saw, I was aware of the round, benevolent face of my cousin peering in
through the opened door. What he saw evidently amazed him. There was the
cat crouching on the floor. I was stretched upon my back in my
shirtsleeves within the cage, my trousers torn to ribbons and a great
pool of blood all round me. I can see his amazed face now, with the
morning sunlight upon it. He peered at me, and peered again. Then he
closed the door behind him, and advanced to the cage to see if I were
really dead.
I cannot undertake to say what happened. I was not in a fit state to
witness or to chronicle such events. I can only say that I was suddenly
conscious that his face was away from me—that he was looking towards the
animal.
“Good old Tommy!” he cried. “Good old Tommy!”
Then he came near the bars, with his back still towards me.
“Down, you stupid beast!” he roared. “Down, sir! Don’t you know your
master?”
Suddenly even in my bemuddled brain a remembrance came of those words of
his when he had said that the taste of blood would turn the cat into a
fiend. My blood had done it, but he was to pay the price.
“Get away!” he screamed. “Get away, you devil! Baldwin! Baldwin! Oh, my
God!”
And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again, with a sound like
the ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until they were lost in
the worrying snarl. And then, after I thought that he was dead, I saw,
as in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered, blood-soaked figure running
wildly round the room—and that was the last glimpse which I had of him
before I fainted once again.
* * * * *
I was many months in my recovery—in fact, I cannot say that I have ever
recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry a stick as a sign of
my night with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, the groom, and the other
servants could not tell what had occurred when, drawn by the death cries
of their master, they found me behind the bars, and his remains—or what
they afterwards discovered to be his remains—in the clutch of the
creature which he had reared. They stalled him off with hot irons, and
afterwards shot him through the loophole of the door before they could
finally extricate me. I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under the
roof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death for
several weeks. They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a nurse from
London, and in a month I was able to be carried to the station, and so
conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions.
I have one remembrance of that illness, which might have been part of
the ever-changing panorama conjured up by a delirious brain were it not
so definitely fixed in my memory. One night, when the nurse was absent,
the door of my chamber opened, and a tall woman in blackest mourning
slipped into the room. She came across to me, and as she bent her sallow
face I saw by the faint gleam of the night-light that it was the
Brazilian woman whom my cousin had married. She stared intently into my
face, and her expression was more kindly than I had ever seen it.
“Are you conscious?” she asked.