"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 disks 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 the 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
paralysed 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 or 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 forepaw 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 mediaeval
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 witness to prove it. Then, unknown to
them, he had slipped down, had lured me into his 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 open door. What he saw evidently amazed him.
There was the cat crouching on the floor. I was stretched upon my back
in my shirt-sleeves 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.