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.

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