A STRANGE ATTACK.
It could not in reality have been more than a minute or two, although it
seemed to me then a terribly long while, before I again heard the sound
which had attracted my attention. When I did, it was quite close at hand,
just at the beginning of the range of farm-buildings which skirted the
road. There was no possibility of any mistake. The situation was
sufficiently plain, at any rate. Scarcely fifty yards away a man was
coming running towards me, either barefooted or with very soft shoes on;
and it was past midnight, pitch dark, and a lonely road.
Nearer and nearer the steps came, and my heart began to beat very fast
indeed. At last, peering earnestly through the gloom, I made out the
shadowy figure of a man only a yard or two away from me, running in the
middle of the road, and a pair of wild, burning eyes glistened like fire
against the dark background. I felt his warm, panting breath upon my
cheek, heard a low, fierce cry, and a second later saw the figure give a
spring sideways and vanish in the shade of the barn wall.
I followed cautiously; but, although I groped about in all directions, I
could see nothing. So I stood quite still with my back to the wall, and
called out softly:
"Who are you? Why are you hiding from me?"
No answer. I tried again:
"I don't want to hurt you. I won't do you any harm. I only want to know
who you are, and what----"
I never finished the sentence. I became suddenly conscious of two glaring
eyes looking at me, like pieces of live coal, from a crumpled heap on the
ground. Then there was a quick, panting snort, a spring, and I felt a
man's long, nervous fingers clutching my throat. Gasping and choking for
breath, I flung them off, only to find myself held as though in a vice by
a pair of long arms. Drawing a deep breath, I braced myself up for the
struggle with my unknown assailant.
More than once I gave myself up for lost, for my opponent was evidently a
powerful man, and seemed bent on strangling me. But, fiercely though he
struggled at first, I soon saw that his strength was only the frenzy of
nervous desperation and that it was fast leaving him. By degrees I began
to gain the upper hand, and at last, with a supreme effort, I threw him
on his back and, before he could recover himself, I had my knee upon his
chest and drew a long breath of relief.
I spoke to him, shouted, threatened, commanded; but he took no notice.
Then I peered down close into his upturned face and fierce eyes, and the
truth flashed upon me at once. I had been struggling with a madman, a
hopeless, raving lunatic, and it was probably he who had made the attack
upon us in the carriage.
My first impulse was one of deep gratitude for my escape; then I began to
wonder what on earth I was to do with him. He was lying like a log now,
perfectly quiet; but I knew that I had only to relax my hold upon him and
the struggle would begin again--perhaps terminate differently. I could
not take him into the house, for there was no room from which he could
not easily escape. The only place seemed to me to be the coach-house. It
was dry and clean, with no windows, save at the top, and with a good
strong padlock. The coach-house would do, I decided, if only I could get
him there.
I drew my handkerchief from my pocket, and, knotting it with my teeth,
secured his hands as well as I could. Then, seizing him by the collar, I
half dragged, half helped him up the garden path till we reached the
coach-house, and, opening the door with one hand, I thrust him in. He
made no resistance; in fact, he seemed utterly cowed; and a pitiable
object he looked, crouched on the floor, with his face turned to the
wall. I struck a match to obtain a better view of him.
His only attire was a grey flannel shirt and a pair of dark trousers,
both of which were torn in places and saturated with rain. Of his face I
could see little, for it was half hidden by the hair, matted with dirt
and rain, and by his bushy whiskers and beard, ragged and unkempt. His
feet were bare and black with a thick coating of mud; hence his soft,
stealthy tread. Altogether, he was a gruesome object, as he lay a huddled
heap against the wall, muttering to himself some unintelligible jargon.
Loosing his hands, I left him there, and, softly entering the house,
found some food and rugs and took them out to him. He eyed the former
ravenously, and before I could set it down he snatched a piece of bread
from my hands and began eagerly to devour it. I put the remainder down by
his side and, throwing the rugs over him, stole away.