He turned. The ribbon swayed gently as he moved his neck.
Gwen hung there, almost at his side. She was sleeping--her head hung in utter exhaustion as he gazed at her through her protective wrapper of cellophane.
"Gwen!" he whispered. She did not stir.
Then he realized that the volume of his tiny voice no longer mattered.
"Gwen!" he shouted.
Her blue eyes opened. She stared recognized him.
"Clyde, darling! I saw him do it to you--he had a needle in his hand A very tiny needle. He jabbed it into your elbow--you fell, and then--"
"Yes?"
Her faint voice trembled and she turned away. He could hear her murmuring faintly.
"Oh, it was horrible! It happened so suddenly, so quickly! You just seemed to shrivel up inside your clothes. One minute you were standing there, and the next--you were gone. Your clothes just fell to the floor. Stockings still in the shoes, shirtsleeves still tucked into your trousers, and the overcoat still covering your suit.
"Mallot reached down and plucked you out of your own trouser-cuff! You lay there like a tiny doll, and he wrapped you in the yellow ribbon and hung you on the tree here.
"He must have used the needle on me, too--after hypnotizing me in the shop. It just takes an instant. No wonder nobody noticed, and he could walk out so easily--with me in his pocket! And now he's done it to you. Oh, darling, what can we do? What can we do?"
Clyde would gladly have given his life for the answer, but it was not forthcoming. And as he groped for words, for consolation and reassurance, there was an interruption.
A wind swept through the tree. And then, ponderously from below, the tremor of an earthquake rocked and vibrated.
It took Clyde a moment to realize that the wind came from the opening of the door, and the earthquake tremor was the thud of footsteps.
A giant thundered into the room. A giant? Clyde recognized the boy, Roger.
Last night he had been a little child. This morning he was a huge creature, massive as a mountain.
He ran into the room, uttering a boyish whoop that smote Clyde's tiny eardrums like the drums of death.
"Where is it?" he yelled. "Where's the surprise?"
A face like a billboard illustration loomed before the figures on the tree. Clyde stared at the great ridged nose, the flaming open-hearth furnace of the mouth, and the great bloated globes of Roger's rolling eyes. They were huge white balloons with dark centers. A network of red veins crawled like serpents across the milky white portions. Clyde stared into the pupils as though viewing the reflecting mirrors on a gigantic telescope. Stared at his own image.
"Look! They're alive!" yelled Roger.
His gigantic paws reached out. His hand almost brushed Clyde's body, but reached past it as the boy took Gwen from the tree. His clumsy fingers tore away the cellophane. Clyde writhed in fury as her body wriggled in the pudgy palm of the boy.
Then the world reeled as Clyde felt himself lifted from the tree by his yellow ribbon. He heard booming laughter from above, then sickened as his body took a roller-coaster dip through space. He had been deposited on the floor.
His bare feet sank into the carpet. Fringes rose like grass about his ankles.
A few feet away--inches, really--Gwen was tottering along. Circulation was slowly being restored to her numbed limbs. Clyde moved towards her, thankful as he felt the blood surge painfully to the soles of his feet.
"Gwen. Are you all right?"
Suddenly something red blocked his path. Clyde turned and a heavy weight struck him behind the knees.
He fell.
The boy had tripped him with his finger.
Booming laughter came from blocks above them in empty air.
"I'll build you a house," roared Roger's voice.
The hand scooped down, grasped them both, and took them for a dizzying elevator ride. Up and down again on another portion of the carpet. They tumbled out, gasping.
The hand came down once more, depositing a six-foot wooden wall at their backs. Clyde turned. Wall? It was merely a 2-inch building block with the letter B raised on its surface. "A house," echoed the voice. Another block appeared before them. And another. In a few seconds, a score of blocks were solidly piled on all four sides of the tiny figures. The light was blotted out and they crouched in the gloom. The second and third tiers of blocks trembled.
So did Clyde.
If that crazy kid made a mistake and one of the blocks wasn't properly balanced--it would slip down and kill them both!
What a fate ... to be crushed to death by an alphabet block!
A voice boomed from above them--voice with echoes that reverberated more deeply than Roger's tones.
"Breakfast, Master Roger."
It was the voice of the butler. Clyde recognized it, distorted as it was, and magnified a hundred-fold.
He heard Roger grumble from outside the block-house.
"All right," he said. "I'm coming. Just as soon as I put a roof on this house."
A block appeared in the opening above their heads and wedged itself down tightly, balancing on three sides of the walls. A faint crevice of light remained on the fourth side which the roof-block didn't touch.
The roof-block trembled as Roger's footsteps thudded across the room. Then, silence.
"He's gone," whispered Gwen. "Now what?"
"Watch me." Clyde almost grinned. This was his chance and he was ready.
"You can't possible push these heavy blocks aside," Gwen sighed, anticipating a move on his part.
"I don't intend to," Clyde answered. "But the letters on these blocks are raised. I can climb up on the lettering. If I get to the top, I can topple that roof-block off. It's resting pretty loosely."
"But it's twenty feet to the top --you'll fall!" Gwen objected.
"Worth trying," Clyde grunted.
The redheaded young man glanced around in the gloom. The letter B loomed at his left.
"Here goes," he announced.
Hands found a lodging, toes a foothold, and Clyde wriggled his way up the side of the block.
L was the next step, and Clyde managed to literally "shinny" his way up the angular six-foot letter. The O above it was much easier to follow. Clyde hung to the upper rim and slowly forced his head and shoulders through the crevice open at the roof.
"Gwen!" he called. "Stand back against the wall. I'm going to rock this block off by its own momentum--but it may fall inside. Look out!"
Bracing his legs against the upper loop of O, Clyde grasped the rough, splintered edges of the roof-block and tugged. It gave perceptibly. He swayed back and forth. Soon the block teetered on a widening arc. He felt it tremble, sway outwards
"Here goes!" he shouted.
With a thunderous crash, the block hurtled down to the carpet below.
Clyde trembled. That noise!
Then he realized that the noise was proportionately inaudible to normal human ears. He grinned.
"Now we're clear, darling," he called. "Climb up the letters. I'll reach down and pull you up."
Gwen joined him, gasping for breath. Her lovely black curls hung in bewitching disarray across her bared shoulders. Clyde pulled her up to the top of the block-heap and took her in his arms.
There was a single blissful moment --but that was all.
"Now, down the sides," Clyde commanded. "Hurry!" He slid down C, clambered down an H, and finally stood on the topmost loop of an R as be assisted Gwen in her descent. At last they stood safely outside the block-house once again.
"Now where?" asked the girl.
Clyde bit his lip. Her words merely echoed his own confusion. They were free of the wooden prison --but how to attain greater freedom?
The vast green expanse of the carpet stretched endlessly before them. The white door was a mile away. And as they walked, their tiny feet sank deeply into the nap of the carpet. Sharp ends bit into their heels.
"Clyde--I can't go any further-- "
Panic and desperation made the
girl blurt out the words.
Panic and desperation gave Clyde his inspiration.
His eye had caught the gleam of metal against the wall, where the carpet ended. A huge contrivance rested there --a great metal cart on gleaming wheels, ponderous as a juggernaut.
"A roller-skate!" Clyde murmured. "Come on."
Grabbing Gwen's hand, he dashed toward the edge of the carpet.
"Climb aboard," he directed. "You see how the floor slants here a bit down to the door? I'll just give this skate a shove, climb on behind, and we'll coast down to the door in a jiffy."
It was a struggle for Gwen to mount the skate, and her blue ribbon was shredded before she reached the top. By that time Clyde was bracing his shoulder against the left rear wheel of the skate, wisely gauging it as the one most likely to be set in motion.
Straining, his muscles bulging with effort, Clyde pushed. The skate moved slowly . . . then gathered speed. It began to roll down the incline.
Clyde clambered aboard at a trot, swinging up just as the skate gathered momentum. They whirled down toward the open door.
"We'll go right through," Clyde exulted. "Right down the hall outside! And then—“
The black shape loomed before them even as he spoke. The black sabre-tooth, twenty feet tall--eyes glaring green fire, jowls slavering for the kill, yellow fangs gaping, claws raised to rend and destroy ... It was the cat! A single bound carried it through the doorway. It paused, hissed, and then bore down upon the two figures crouching on the flat top of the moving roller-skate.
"Quick!" yelled Clyde. "Jump off!" Gwen obeyed. Clyde didn't move. The skate rolled directly towards the oncoming cat. Clyde saw it raise a paw, ready to rake him off as the skate passed. He crouched low as the paw swooped down.
He felt the shaggy blanket of fur brush his back and twisted to one side.
The cat had missed!
And now the skate had carried him beyond. He had almost reached the door. The black cat whirled. A single bound brought it forward. Another leap and it would be upon him.
Clyde slipped from the moving skate, eyes roving frantically around the enormous room.
Then he spied it, scarcely three inches away --a long green blade with a sharp point.
A fallen needle from the Christmas tree!
But it was a weapon. Clyde grasped it and rose to face the charging cat. The gigantic head rose above him, and the huge jaws yawned. A paw swept out.
Clyde thrust the sharp point of the pine-needle upwards. It pricked the cat's paw. The feline yowled and withdrew its claws. Then it leaped.
Clyde felt, rather than saw it soar over his head. The wind grazed his hair. And now, in a single instant, the great cat was behind him. The black bulk of its body moved down on him. A ranking claw thrust out. Clyde jabbed with his weapon.
Quick as lightning, the other paw came down. The pine-needle was brushed from his hand, and a numbing shock traveled up his arm.
Clyde stooped to pick up the needle. It was broken --he was weaponless! Now he was ready prey, and so was Gwen.
And the cat charged.
There was no escape this time. Clyde darted to one side, dodged. The cat landed on its forepaws a good foot away. But as it landed, its long black tail coiled out in a lashing blow.
Clyde felt it strike his knees from behind, felt it coil around his waist as he fell. Trapped, he waited as the cat turned, with out-flexed paws, and launched itself at his throat --
The blackness bore down upon him and he felt the hot breath of the gaping mouth as the fangs ripped towards his head.
CHAPTER V
The Wreck of the Number Nine
The fangs never reached their goal.
As Clyde prepared himself for that final stab of blinding pain, the darkness seemed to lift from before him.
It did lift--for a hand came out of the air and grasped the black cat by the scruff of the neck.
"Scat!" thundered a voice.
Clyde lay there looking up as Roger picked up the feline and carried it from the room. Roger closed the door and returned.
"Tried to hurt my playthings," mumbled the boy. He stared down at Clyde.
"But how did you two get out of the block-house?" he asked.
Clyde shrugged his tiny shoulders in reply.
"You were trying to get away, weren't you," Roger accused. "You tried to hide from me! Maybe I'd better hang you up for safe-keeping while I finish breakfast."
Roger suited his actions to the words. He stooped down and Clyde rose on his palm. A stride carried the boy over to where Gwen lay. She tumbled into the moist, slippery surface of Roger's hand and clung to Clyde as they swayed towards the tree.
Roger adjusted the ends of the blue ribbon and the yellow ribbon. Once more the two mannikins dangled like ornaments on the great Christmas tree.
Clyde groaned inwardly as he found himself right back where he had started. Once more the door --escape --freedom --all were miles away.
Rogers smiled down on the two hanging figures.
"Be quiet, now," he said. "I'll come back as soon as I finish eating." His footsteps thundered from the room. Once again there was silence.
Clyde turned his head. Gwen smiled at him bravely. His heart wrenched as he realized the effort she was making to appear cheerful.
But suddenly her assumed optimism faded. "Oh, darling," she sighed. "I guess it's hopeless. We'll be here forever. And--"
Her dainty little body shook in a sudden spasm of sobbing.
"What's the matter, honey?" Clyde whispered.
"Oh--it's so terrible! And I'm all scratched and bruised, and I'm practically starving."
Clyde forced a smile. "Good for you to go without food," he told her. "You always said you wanted to reduce."
"Reduce!" A fresh burst of tears coursed down her doll-like cheeks.
Clyde frowned as he realized the ironic cruelty of his remark. She was reduced indeed!
Then his eyes lighted on a vast object hanging directly before him.
"Cheer up, small fry," he called. "I think I can get you a bite to eat, anyway."
He began to pump his legs outward, swinging his body forward and back. The movement caused the ribbon by which he was suspended to swing in a slow arc. Clyde, at the bottom of this pendulum, swung forward with increasing speed. Soon he was approaching the great white object with every swing.
It hung there, like a ten-foot snow ball, right in his path. His tiny fingers clawed at its rough, corrugated surface.
Nothing happened. On the next swing he dug into it deeply. There was a crackling sound, and a huge lump of the white substance broke off in his hands. He swung back and ceased his movements.
Slowly, he broke the white lump and extended a section of it to Gwen. She could just reach out and grab it.
"Go ahead and eat," Clyde told her. "Lucky for us there's a popcorn ball on the tree."
The popcorn was nourishing. Clyde had never thought two people could make a satisfying meal out of a single kernel from a popcorn ball, but this was ample to still his hunger. It didn't take much to fill a tiny stomach. A little condensed milk, now --
As Gwen nibbled her popcorn, Clyde abandoned his fancies and concentrated on another train of thought.
He had swung outward and back to reach the popcorn ball. Then he had stopped. Suppose he kept it up? Suppose he swung in wider arcs until the ribbon on the branch above him loosened?
He might fall, plunge to his death on the jagged pine-splinters below. Still, it was a chance. And it was his only chance.
Thankful that Gwen was occupied only with her food, he began to rock cautiously once more. Soon he swung out to the popcorn ball again; then beyond it. He swooped forward and back. His head reeled, he grew dizzy, but he could feel a movement on the ribbon over his head.
He plummeted up and down, up and down. Now Gwen saw him, and she screamed as he rocketed past. Clyde was giddy, breathless. The world spun around him the glittering constellation of tree ornaments whirled
.
And then --the ribbon came free!
With a gasp, Clyde took the fall. He plunged down, down --shooting through interstices between the bristling branches. Far below him he saw the huge, shining bulk of a crystal globe.
An ornament --he was heading straight towards it! In an instant he would crash, the ornament would shatter, its jagged splinter pierce his body and hurl his bleeding carcass to the floor below.
Clyde's arms flailed wildly. The deadly polished surface rushed up to meet him, and then his right hand found a hold.
With an arm-wrenching lurch, his descent halted. Clyde clung desperately to the strand of tinsel that sustained his weight. For a long moment he could only pant and wheeze. Slowly he drew himself up to a perch on the tinsel.
"Clyde, are you all right?"
Gwen's voice came from above. She hung about forty feet higher --in reality, about fifteen inches over his head.
"Of course I am," Clyde answered. "Hold on and I'll climb up and get you loose."
Now it was easy to mount the branches, picking footholds and hanging on to tinsel strands arid candycane lengths. In a very few minutes Clyde had crawled to a niche above Gwen's head and slowly loosened the strand of blue ribbon.
"Grab that branch tip," he directed. "I'll get you free in a moment."
The operation was swiftly accomplished.
"Now what?" Gwen voiced the question as Clyde joined her on the branch. "You aren't going to make me climb down to the floor, are you? I get dizzy just looking at it."
Clyde shook his head.
"No sense in trying the floor again," he said. "Too dangerous, and it's too far to the door. Besides, once in the hall, we'd need to get the outer door open as well."
"Could we get to a telephone?”
"Not likely," Clyde decided. "Besides, how'd we ever get the receiver off the hook? It would be an engineering problem to dial a number, and I doubt if our voices would carry. Too much danger of detection, anyway. No --that's out."
"Then what can we do?"
"Just keep calm. Look, we have French windows right in back of us. And I've a hunch the one on our left is open a bit. I've felt a breeze for some time. If that window is ajar, we can slip directly outside. All we need do is climb around the side of the tree here and slide down to the window ledge. Can you crawl?"