Inspector Furnival's Most Mysterious Cases. Annie Haynes
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Название: Inspector Furnival's Most Mysterious Cases
Автор: Annie Haynes
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее
isbn: 9788027219551
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He caught her look and laughed mockingly. "Oh, no! You are not going, Judy! I haven't done with you yet. Think of all we have to discuss after our long parting."
There was a slight sound that might have come from the passage behind—she started with the faint hope that rescue might be at hand. The man heard the noise too; he turned his head and listened.
Judy saw her momentary advantage; she sprang forward. Before he had realized her intention she had reached the other room, caught at the door that must lead into the passage, and was tugging at it with insistent, impotent fingers.
There was a loud laugh behind her. "Ah, I thought of that beforehand! No use crying, Judy; the door is locked and the key is outside. Now—now don't you understand that you are in my power? That you are mine—mine!"
Judith set her teeth as she faced him, standing back against the door. He caught her in his arms.
"Do you know that you haven't given me one kiss yet, Judy? I haven't had the welcome I had looked forward to from my wife."
Judith struggled desperately to get away from him, striking blindly at the handsome face, the broad chest.
In vain, her strength was as nothing against his; she was drawn more closely to him; she could feel his hot breath upon her cheek. With one last mad effort at resistance she threw herself backwards. There was a click, then sudden darkness.
In one instant Judy realized what had happened. She had knocked against the electric switch; and it had given her the opportunity for which she had been longing. The arms that had been holding her so tightly momentarily relaxed; with a quickness born of her terrible plight she slipped out of them into the darkness.
There was the sound of an oath as the man felt blindly for the switch—failed to find it. Then as Judith tried to grope her way to the door by which she had entered, she heard that he was coming after her, swearing, knocking over the furniture. She gained the wall; surely—surely it was the outer room! Where was the door? There was not the smallest glint of light to show its whereabouts, and she had thought so certainly that it had been partly opened. It was horrible, horrible, feeling round the room, trying frantically to find the door, hearing the while the heavy breathing of the man who was pursuing her.
Once they were so near that she actually touched him. At last she felt wood—the door, the blessed door; another second and her fingers caught against a blind. It was the window—great tears came into her eyes. But the door was opposite; surely she could make her way across. Putting out her hands before her, she tried to walk softly. Yes: here was the centre table, where the revolver had been thrown, the ink upset. She felt about, there was the ink certainly, her hands were wet, but where was the revolver?
There came a cry.
"Ah! I have you now!" It seemed a long way away in the other room. "No use struggling now, Judy!"
Then across the darkness there rang out the sharp staccato sound of a revolver shot. There was a groan; a heavy fall.
Chapter IV
Judith stood as one petrified. What had happened? What was happening? She became conscious of a new sound—an odd gurgling sound. The darkness was peopled with horrible images, the gurgling died away into silence. What was it? she asked herself, her limbs trembling under her, a sweat of deadly terror breaking out upon her forehead. What had that ping, ping sounded like? Could it have been a revolver shot? If—if it were, who had fired it? And who had fallen on the floor?
Was it possible that the man who said he was her husband had shot himself by accident? He had not guessed that the revolver was loaded, and he had used it to frighten her.
As she stood there she told herself that she was a coward and a fool. He was hurt, perhaps dying. Summoning up all her courage, she managed to raise her voice.
"What is it? Where are you? Are you hurt, Cyril?" the old name seemed to come naturally to her lips.
There was no answer. But as she waited, her head bent forward to catch the least sound, she became aware that she was not alone in the room, that some one else was breathing softly close to her. It was not the man who had been pursuing her, she knew that instinctively. An agony of terror shook her, what did that veil of darkness cover? Who—what was stealthily passing her? It was very near her now—that thing with the horribly soft breath, very, very near her; putting out her hand, she would surely touch it. If it came one step nearer, assuredly it would knock against her.
Her overstrained nerves would bear no more. With a shriek of horror, she fled across the room, hitting herself against the chairs, finally running with outstretched hands against the locked door. It was locked still, but as she dashed herself helplessly against it, one hand touched the switch-board. With a cry she pulled the button down and glanced fearfully over her shoulder into the room. As she turned slowly further round, she caught sight of something protruding beyond the easy chair.
She moved round stealthily, fearfully. A man lay on the floor in a curious doubled-up heap, a man whose fair head and broad shoulders were very familiar. "Cyril! Cyril!" she said hoarsely, beneath her breath. There was no answer; she tottered across feebly. She felt no fear now of the thing on the carpet—only a great pity as she sank on her knees beside it.
A ghastly dark line had trickled down on the carpet, the florid face was white, the eyes sightless and staring. With a cry Judith tried to raise the heavy inert head, she took the nerveless hands in hers. "Cyril! Cyril!" she sobbed, as she felt the dead weight, as a dense mist gathered before her eyes.
Judith never knew how long she crouched there, on the floor beside the dead man. Strange thoughts buzzed through her brain, memories of the past, trifles that had no bearing on the present. But at last she awoke to a consciousness of her surroundings, of the danger in which she stood. People might come in at any moment. How could she explain her presence in the flat? How tell them of the dead man's insults, of the sudden darkness, and the unknown hand that had fired the fatal shot? They would not believe her. They might say it was she—she who had killed the man who lay there stark on the carpet before her.
The terror of that last thought pierced the thick cloud that had momentarily obscured her brain; she must get away, at all costs she must get away.
She started to her feet, shuddering as she saw the dark crimson stain that disfigured the front of her white bodice; she drew her cloak more closely round her, fastened down her veil. Then she turned and her lips moved silently as she looked down at the corpse; moved by some sudden impulse, she stooped and laid her hand for a moment on the cold forehead.
At the door of the room she paused again. What unseen danger might be lurking in the flat? At last she took her courage in both hands, and stepped out into the passage. All was apparently quiet; she could hear no sound, see no sign of the murderer. She opened the door of the flat with trembling fingers and pulled it to behind her. She was shaking from head to foot as she slowly made her way down the stairs.
As she neared the bottom of the first flight she heard some one coming up, whistling cheerfully. She saw that it was a man, a young man apparently; then she glanced away quickly, one hand holding СКАЧАТЬ