"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring Igave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried, raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"And she pointed at Desmond.
Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that twitched a little and then lay still.
* * * * * * *Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic, ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone, said:
"Well, how are you feeling?"
The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came from his own lips, curiously enough:
"Fine!"
So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the wailing of the woman.
"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if she can't be quiet!"Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken glass strewn about the carpet.
The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and the gentlemen a cup o' tea."Then, to Desmond, he said:
"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you when I come in at the winder!"The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well, that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
"Francis!" cried Desmond.
And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He burst into tears.