‘I heard something,’ he whispered.
‘And I,’ said the older man.
‘What was it?’
‘Silence. Listen!’
For a minute or more we all stayed with straining
ears while the wind still whimpered in the chimney
or rattled the crazy window.
‘It was nothing,’ said Lesage at last,
with a nervous laugh. ‘The storm makes
curious sounds sometimes.’
‘I heard nothing,’ said Toussac.
‘Hush!’ cried the other. ‘There
it is again!’
A clear rising cry floated high above the wailing
of the storm; a wild, musical cry, beginning on a
low note, and thrilling swiftly up to a keen, sharp-edged
howl.
‘A hound!’
‘They are following us!’
Lesage dashed to the fireplace, and I saw him thrust
his papers into the blaze and grind them down with
his heel.
Toussac seized the wood-axe which leaned against the
wall. The thin man dragged the pile of decayed
netting from the corner, and opened a small wooden
screen, which shut off a low recess.
‘In here,’ he whispered, ‘quick!’
And then, as I scrambled into my refuge, I heard him
say to the others that I would be safe there, and
that they could lay their hands upon me when they
wished.
THE LAW
The cupboard—for it was little more—into
which I had been hurried was low and narrow, and I
felt in the darkness that it was heaped with peculiar
round wickerwork baskets, the nature of which I could
by no means imagine, although I discovered afterwards
that they were lobster traps. The only light
which entered was through the cracks of the old broken
door, but these were so wide and numerous that I could
see the whole of the room which I had just quitted.
Sick and faint, with the shadow of death still clouding
my wits, I was none the less fascinated by the scene
which lay before me.
My thin friend, with the same prim composure upon
his emaciated face, had seated himself again upon
the box. With his hands clasped round one of
his knees he was rocking slowly backwards and forwards;
and I noticed, in the lamplight, that his jaw muscles
were contracting rhythmically, like the gills of a
fish. Beside him stood Lesage, his white face
glistening with moisture and his loose lip quivering
with fear. Every now and then he would make
a vigorous attempt to compose his features, but after
each rally a fresh wave of terror would sweep everything
before it, and set him shaking once more. As
to Toussac, he stood before the fire, a magnificent
figure, with the axe held down by his leg, and his
head thrown back in defiance, so that his great black
beard bristled straight out in front of him.
He said not a word, but every fibre of his body was
braced for a struggle. Then, as the howl of
the hound rose louder and clearer from the marsh outside,
he ran forward and threw open the door.
