And now at last I knew why this door had haunted my dreams, a thing of
unutterable evil for, from beneath its frowning shadow, out into the
moonlight, stepped Diana.
She was shrouded in a long, hooded cloak, but my sickened senses knew
her even before she put back the hood to glance stealthily about her,
like the shameful, guilty thing she was. Suddenly she shrank,
cowering, as upon the air broke a strange, inarticulate cry that I
knew for my own; an unseen hand plucked her back, the door closed, was
locked and swiftly bolted, and I heard the sound of running feet.
And now, all too late, I sprang to smite this accursed door with
maddened fists, to beat it with pistol butt and utter incoherent
shouts and ravings. All at once my arm was in a powerful grip, the
pistol twisted out of my hold and I glared up into the face of
Anthony. His hat was gone, he swayed gently on his feet, and when he
spoke his voice was hoarse and indistinct.
"What's t' do, old fellow--dev'lish din you're making--most infernal.
Won't they open th' curst door t' ye then, Perry? Well--never
mind--take a pull at this--nothing like brandy--"
From capacious pocket he drew forth a bottle and held it towards me,
which I forthwith dashed against the wall.
"And now," said I, "give me the pistol!"
"What for?" he demanded, sobered a little.
"Because I purpose to shoot him."
"Who, Perry?"
"Trenchard or Haredale or Devereux or whatever he calls himself.
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