Tales of Terror and Mystery
The Beetle-Hunter
Ienviedhimhisquietsleep,andagainandagainmyowneyelidsdrooped,buteverytimemysenseofdutycametomyhelp,andIsatup,rubbingmyeyesandpinchingmyselfwithadeterminationtoseemyirrationalwatchtoanend.
AndIdidso.Fromdownthepassagecamethechimesoftwoo’clock,andIlaidmyhandupontheshoulderofthesleeper.Instantlyhewassittingup,withanexpressionofthekeenestinterestuponhisface.
"Youhaveheardsomething?"
"No,sir.Itistwoo’clock."
"Verygood.Iwillwatch.Youcangotosleep."
Ilaydownunderthecoverletashehaddoneandwassoonunconscious.Mylastrecollectionwasofthatcircleoflamplight,andofthesmall,hunched-upfigureandstrained,anxiousfaceofLordLinchmereinthecentreofit.
HowlongIsleptIdonotknow;butIwassuddenlyarousedbyasharptugatmysleeve.Theroomwasindarkness,butahotsmellofoiltoldmethatthelamphadonlythatinstantbeenextinguished.
"Quick!Quick!"saidLordLinchmere’svoiceinmyear.
Isprangoutofbed,hestilldraggingatmyarm.
"Overhere!"hewhispered,andpulledmeintoacorneroftheroom."Hush!Listen!"
InthesilenceofthenightIcoulddistinctlyhearthatsomeonewascomingdownthecorridor.Itwasastealthystep,faintandintermittent,asofamanwhopausedcautiouslyaftereverystride.Sometimesforhalfaminutetherewasnosound,andthencametheshuffleandcreakwhichtoldofafreshadvance.Mycompanionwastremblingwithexcitement.Hishand,whichstillheldmysleeve,twitchedlikeabranchinthewind.
"Whatisit?"Iwhispered.