The strange sickly scent1 went as swiftly as it had come. The air cleared and sweetened once more. It was very odd, because there was no draught2 or breath of air to cleanse3 the atmosphere. Doubtless the scent had proceeded from the tropical flowers at the end of the corridor. Many new varieties had been introduced recently, strange plants to Beatrice, some of them full of buds which might open at any moment. Perhaps one of these had suddenly burst into bloom and caused the unfamiliar4 odour.
Beatrice hoped that the plant might not be a beautiful one, but if it were she would have to sacrifice it, for it would be impossible to live in its neighbourhood and breathe that sickly sweet smell for long. In another moment or two she would know for herself. She advanced along the corridor quickly with the intention of turning up the lights and finding the offending flower. She knew her way perfectly5 well in the dark. She could have placed her hands upon the switches blindfold6. Suddenly she stopped.
For the corridor was no longer in darkness. Some ten or fifteen yards ahead of her in the centre of the floor and on the thick pile of the Persian carpet was a round nebulous trembling orb7 of flickering8 blue flame. The rays rose and fell just as a fire does in a dark room, and for the moment Beatrice thought the boards were on fire.
But the peculiar9 dead-blue of the flame and its round shape did not fit in with this theory. The fire was apparently10 feeding upon nothing, and as Beatrice stood there fascinated she saw it roll a yard or two like a ball. It moved just as if a sudden draught had caught it—this strange will-o'-the-wisp at large in a country house. Beatrice shivered with apprehension11 wondering what was going to happen next. She could not move, she could not call out, for she was now past words. She could only watch and wait developments, her heart beating fast.
And developments came. For the best part of a yard a fairly strong glow surrounded the sobbing12 blue flame. Out of the glow came a long, thin, brown hand and arm, the slim fingers grasping a small brass13 pot and holding it over the flame. Almost immediately a dusty film rose from the pot and once again that sickly sweet perfume filled the corridor. Beatrice swayed before it, her senses soothed14, her nerves numbed15, until it seemed to her that she was falling backwards16 to the ground. A pair of arms caught her and she was lifted from the floor and carried swiftly along to her own room. It was all like a dream, from which she emerged by and by, to find herself safe and sound and the door of her room closed. She shook off the fears that held her in a grip of iron and laid 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 side of that locked door? It was useless to cry for help, for the walls were thick and no one slept in the same corridor but herself. All the servants had gone to bed long ago. Therefore, to ring the bell for help would be useless. All Beatrice could do was to wait and hope for assistance, and pray that this blue terror overhanging the house was not destined17 to end in tragedy. Perhaps this was an ingenious method by which modern thieves rifled houses with impunity18 and got away with their plunder19 before alarm could be raised. It seemed feasible, especially as she recollected20 that her dog had not challenged the intruders. She hoped nothing had happened to the terrier. She could not forget her tiny favourite even at this alarming moment.
Meanwhile, help was near at hand, as Beatrice expected. In the billiard-room Wilfrid Mercer had come to his senses, and made a dash for the window. He knew now that some dire21 catastrophe22 was at hand. He did not doubt that this was the work of the two strangers whom he had seen under the trees. In fact, with the scent burning and stinging in his nostrils23 there was no room for question. Whether the stuff was fatal or not he did not know and there was no time to ask. The thing to do was to create a powerful current throughout the house and clear the rooms and passages.
He thought of many things in that swift moment. His mind went flashing back to the time when he had encountered the dead Englishman in the Borneo hut with that knotted skein about his forehead. He thought about the strange discovery in the afternoon when those five knots had so mysteriously appeared again. He thought most of all of Beatrice and wondered if she were safe. All this shot through his mind in the passing of a second between the time he rose from his chair and fumbled24 for the catch of the windows opening on to the lawn. He had his handkerchief 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 were thrown wide and a great rush of air swept into the room causing the plants to dance and sway and the masses of ferns to nod their heads complainingly. It was good to feel the pure air of heaven again, to fill the lungs with a deep breath, and note the action of the heart growing normal once more. The thing had passed as rapidly as it had come and Wilfrid felt ripe for action. He was bold enough to meet the terror in whatever way it lifted up its head. As he turned towards the hall Cotter staggered into the room. His face was white and he shook like a reed in the wind. His fat hands were rubbing nervously25 together and he was the very embodiment of grotesque26, almost ludicrous, fright.
"After all these years," he muttered, "after all these years. I am a wicked old man, sir, a miserable27 old wretch28 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 never believed it, sir, I never believed it. And now when I have worked and toiled29 and slaved to enjoy myself in my old age I am going to die like this. 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 my right hand off rather than have gone to Borneo ten years ago."
But Cotter did not hear. He had not the remotest idea whom he was talking to. He wandered in the same childish manner, rubbing his hands and writhing31 as if he were troubled with fearful inward pains.
"Can't you explain?" Wilfrid asked. "So you two have been to Borneo together, eh? That tells me a good deal. In the meantime, what has become of Mr. Flower?"
"He is in there," he said vaguely33, "in the library with them. Oh, why did I ever come to a place like this?"
Again the vague terror seemed to sweep down upon Cotter and sway him to and fro as if the physical agony were more than he could bear. It was useless to try to extract any intelligent information out of this sweat-bedabbled wretch. And whatever happened Flower must be left to his own devices for the moment. Doubtless he had brought all this upon himself, and if he had to pay the extreme penalty, why, then, the world would be little the worse for his loss. But there was somebody else whose life was far more precious. Wilfrid bent34 over the quaking Cotter and 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 muddled35 brain of yours. Where is Miss Galloway, and where is she to be found?"
"I can guess that for myself," Wilfrid retorted. "Show me her room."
"Oh, I will," Cotter whined37. "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 who doesn't know—"
"If you won't come, I will take you by the scruff of your neck and drag you 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 perfume lingered. Cotter, hanging limply from Wilfrid's arm, pointed38 to a door. Then he turned and fled, holding on by the balustrade. It was no time to hesitate, so Wilfrid tapped at the door. His heart was in his mouth and he waited with sickening impatience39 for a reply. Suppose the mischief40 had been done! Suppose he should be too late! He had with difficulty saved himself. Then he gave a gasp41 of relief as he heard the voice of Beatrice asking who was there.
"It is I, Mercer," he said. "There is no time to lose. Will you unlock the door?"
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1
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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2
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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3
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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4
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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5
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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6
blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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7
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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8
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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9
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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10
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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11
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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12
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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13
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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14
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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15
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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17
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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18
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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19
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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20
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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22
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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23
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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24
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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25
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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26
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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27
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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28
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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29
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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30
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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31
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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32
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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33
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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34
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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35
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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36
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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37
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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38
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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39
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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40
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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41
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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