*CHAPTER VIII*
*THE BLUE TERROR*
The strange sickly scent went as swiftly as it had come. The aircleared and sweetened once more. It was very odd, because there was nodraught or breath of air to cleanse the atmosphere. Doubtless the scenthad proceeded from the tropical flowers at the end of the corridor. Manynew varieties had been introduced recently, strange plants to Beatrice,some of them full of buds which might open at any moment. Perhaps oneof these had suddenly burst into bloom and caused the unfamiliar odour.
Beatrice hoped that the plant might not be a beautiful one, but if itwere she would have to sacrifice it, for it would be impossible to livein its neighbourhood and breathe that sickly sweet smell for long. Inanother moment or two she would know for herself. She advanced alongthe corridor quickly with the intention of turning up the lights andfinding the offending flower. She knew her way perfectly well in thedark. She could have placed her hands upon the switches blindfold.Suddenly she stopped.
For the corridor was no longer in darkness. Some ten or fifteen yardsahead of her in the centre of the floor and on the thick pile of thePersian carpet was a round nebulous trembling orb of flickering blueflame. The rays rose and fell just as a fire does in a dark room, andfor the moment Beatrice thought the boards were on fire.
But the peculiar dead-blue of the flame and its round shape did not fitin with this theory. The fire was apparently feeding upon nothing, andas Beatrice stood there fascinated she saw it roll a yard or two like aball. It moved just as if a sudden draught had caught it--this strangewill-o'-the-wisp at large in a country house. Beatrice shivered withapprehension wondering what was going to happen next. She could notmove, she could not call out, for she was now past words. She couldonly watch and wait developments, her heart beating fast.
And developments came. For the best part of a yard a fairly strong glowsurrounded the sobbing blue flame. Out of the glow came a long, thin,brown hand and arm, the slim fingers grasping a small brass pot andholding it over the flame. Almost immediately a dusty film rose from thepot and once again that sickly sweet perfume filled the corridor.Beatrice swayed before it, her senses soothed, her nerves numbed, untilit seemed to her that she was falling backwards to the ground. A pairof arms caught her and she was lifted from the floor and carried swiftlyalong to her own room. It was all like a dream, from which she emergedby and by, to find herself safe and sound and the door of her roomclosed. She shook off the fears that held her in a grip of iron andlaid her hand on the door knob. The lock was fastened on the outside.
What did it mean? What terrible things were happening on the other sideof that locked door? It was useless to cry for help, for the walls werethick and no one slept in the same corridor but herself. All theservants had gone to bed long ago. Therefore, to ring the bell for helpwould be useless. All Beatrice could do was to wait and hope forassistance, and pray that this blue terror overhanging the house was notdestined to end in tragedy. Perhaps this was an ingenious method bywhich modern thieves rifled houses with impunity and got away with theirplunder before alarm could be raised. It seemed feasible, especially asshe recollected that her dog had not challenged the intruders. Shehoped nothing had happened to the terrier. She could not forget hertiny favourite even at this alarming moment.
Meanwhile, help was near at hand, as Beatrice expected. In thebilliard-room Wilfrid Mercer had come to his senses, and made a dash forthe window. He knew now that some dire catastrophe was at hand. He didnot doubt that this was the work of the two strangers whom he had seenunder the trees. In fact, with the scent burning and stinging in hisnostrils there was no room for question. Whether the stuff was fatal ornot he did not know and there was no time to ask. The thing to do wasto create a powerful current throughout the house and clear the roomsand passages.
He thought of many things in that swift moment. His mind went flashingback to the time when he had encountered the dead Englishman in theBorneo hut with that knotted skein about his forehead. He thought aboutthe strange discovery in the afternoon when those five knots had somysteriously appeared again. He thought most of all of Beatrice andwondered if she were safe. All this shot through his mind in thepassing of a second between the time he rose from his chair and fumbledfor the catch of the windows opening on to the lawn. He had hishandkerchief pressed tightly to his face. He dared not breathe yet.His heart was beating like a drum.
But the catch yielded at last. One after the other the windows werethrown wide and a great rush of air swept into the room causing theplants to dance and sway and the masses of ferns to nod their headscomplainingly. It was good to feel the pure air of heaven again, tofill the lungs with a deep breath, and note the action of the heartgrowing normal once more. The thing had passed as rapidly as it hadcome and Wilfrid felt ripe for action. He was bold enough to meet theterror in whatever way it lifted up its head. As he turned towards thehall Cotter staggered into the room. His face was white and he shooklike a reed in the wind. His fat hands were rubbing nervously togetherand he was the very embodiment of grotesque, almost ludicrous, fright.
"After all these years," he muttered, "after all these years. I am awicked old man, sir, a miserable old wretch who doesn't deserve to live.And yet I always knew it would come. I knew it well enough though Mr.Flower always said we had got the better of those people. But I neverbelieved it, sir, I never believed it. And now when I have worked andtoiled and slaved to enjoy myself in my old age I am going to die likethis. But it wasn't my fault, sir. I didn't do it. It was Flower.And if I had only known what was going to happen I would have cut myright hand off rather than have gone to Borneo ten years ago."
"In the name of common sense, what are you jabbering about?" Wilfridsaid impatiently.
But Cotter did not hear. He had not the remotest idea whom he wastalking to. He wandered in the same childish manner, rubbing his handsand writhing as if he were troubled with fearful inward pains.
"Can't you explain?" Wilfrid asked. "So you two have been to Borneotogether, eh? That tells me a good deal. In the meantime, what hasbecome of Mr. Flower?"
Apparently Cotter had a glimmer of sense, for he grasped the meaning ofthe question.
"He is in there," he said vaguely, "in the library with them. Oh, whydid I ever come to a place like this?"
Again the vague terror seemed to sweep down upon Cotter and sway him toand fro as if the physical agony were more than he could bear. It wasuseless to try to extract any intelligent information out of thissweat-bedabbled wretch. And whatever happened Flower must be left to hisown devices for the moment. Doubtless he had brought all this uponhimself, and if he had to pay the extreme penalty, why, then, the worldwould be little the worse for his loss. But there was somebody elsewhose life was far more precious. Wilfrid bent over the quaking Cotterand shook him by the shoulders much as a terrier shakes a rat.
"Now, listen to me, you trembling coward," he said between his teeth."Try to get a little sense into that muddled brain of yours. Where isMiss Galloway, and where is she to be found?"
"Don't," Cotter groaned. "Do you want to murder me? I suppose MissGalloway is in her bedroom."
"I can guess that for myself," Wilfrid retorted. "Show me her room."
"Oh, I will," Cotter whined. "But don't ask me to move from here, sir.It would be cruel. It is all very well for a young man like you whodoesn't know--"
"If you won't come, I will take you by the scruff of your neck and dragyou upstairs," Wilfrid said grimly.
He caught hold of Cotter's limp arm and propelled him up the stairs.The atmosphere was clean and sweet now, though traces of the perfumelingered. Cotter, hanging limply from Wilfrid's arm, pointed to a door.Then he turned and fled, holding on by the balustrade. It was no timeto hesitate, so Wilfrid tapped at the door. His heart was in his mouthand he waited with sickening impatience for a reply. Suppose themischief had been done! Suppose he should be too late!
He had withdifficulty saved himself. Then he gave a gasp of relief as he heard thevoice of Beatrice asking who was there.
"It is I, Mercer," he said. "There is no time to lose. Will you unlockthe door?"