The Keeper of the Door Part 118

Noel whizzed round with the key in his hand. "Hullo,--Nick!" he said.

"Leave it alone! Leave it alone!" The voice dropped to a hoa.r.s.e croak.

The man was close to the table now, and in amazement Olga recognized the face of the old moonstone-seller. But it was convulsed with a terror such as she had never seen on the face of any man.

The bony hand darted out towards the casket, and her heart stood still.

She knew that hand--wiry, energetic, capable.

"Nick!" she whispered. "Nick!"

He brushed her aside, and, again in that dry, breathless croak, "There isn't--a moment--to lose!" he said.

In another instant he would have had the s.h.i.+ning thing in his grasp, but in that instant Noel's wits leaped to full understanding. He wheeled, caught the newcomer by his tattered garment, and flung him violently away.

"All right, you old joker!" he said. "My job!"

Dazed with horror, though still scarcely realizing, Olga saw him turn and lift the ivory casket, holding it clasped firmly between his hands.

Then, with a set face, stepping warily, he moved to the window close behind.

In the other part of the room women were crying and men deeply cursing; but there near the table no one uttered a sound, till the ragged creature on the floor sprang up crying hoa.r.s.ely for a pail of water.

Noel's figure pa.s.sed through the open window as he did so, smoothly, unfalteringly, and so out upon the dark verandah.

Deftly, warily, he made his way. The thing between his hands weighed heavily. It would have been no job for a one-armed man.

He pa.s.sed down the verandah with every nerve strung to the moment's emergency. Unquestionably he was not afraid, but he could have wished that the place had been better illuminated. His progress would have been considerably quicker.

He neared the flight of six steps that led down to the compound, and suddenly became aware of a dark figure lounging in a wicker-chair ahead of him. He saw the glow of a cigarette.

He raised his voice. "Hi, you! Clear out! Git--if you value your life!

There's going to be an explosion!"

He did not slacken his pace as he uttered his warning. He dared not pause. His whole heart was set on reaching the compound in time.

The figure in the chair turned towards him. He heard the creak of the bamboo. But it made no movement to rise.

"Confound you! Take your chance then!" said Noel between his teeth.

He came closer. He saw in a momentary glance the face behind the cigarette. Heavy, drugged eyes looked up to his. Then in the dimness he heard a sudden movement, a snarling, devilish laugh.

The next instant he kicked against an obstruction, staggered, fought madly to recover himself, tripped a second time, and with a yell of rage fell headlong.

There came a flash of blinding, intolerable brightness--a roar as of the roar of a cannon, stunning, deafening, devastating,--the smaller sound of wood splintering and falling,--and then a dumb and awful silence more fearful than Death.

The first to arrive on that scene of darkness and destruction was the old moonstone-seller. He seemed to be gifted with eyes of extraordinary keenness, for he made his way unerringly, with the agility of a monkey among the splintered _debris_. One corner of the mess-house had completely gone, leaving a gaping hole into the ante-room. Dimly the lamps within shone upon the wreckage. The crowd from the ball-room, horror-stricken, fearful, were gathered about the doorway. The atmosphere was thick with dust and smoke.

Light as an acrobat the moonstone-seller stepped among the ruins, then paused to listen.

"Is there anyone here?" he asked aloud. "Noel, are you here?"

There was no answer. The awful, tragic silence closed in upon his words.

But it did not daunt him. Cautiously he crept a little further forward.

And now there came a voice from the room behind him, Colonel Bradlaw's voice, harsh with suspense.

"Is the boy dead?"

"Don't know yet, sir," came back the answer. "Will you send a lantern?

Ah! Hullo!"

Something had moved against his foot. Something writhed and groaned.

The searcher stooped. "Hullo!" he said again. "Noel, is it you, lad? I'm here. I'll help you."

A voice answered him--a smothered inarticulate voice. A groping hand came up, clutching for deliverance. There came the slip and crackle of broken wood beneath which some living object struggled and fought for freedom.

The one wiry arm of the moonstone-seller went down to the rescue. It did good service that night--such service as astonished even its owner when he had time to think.

The man under the _debris_ was making t.i.tanic efforts, thrusting his way upwards with desperate, frantic strength. Once as he strove he uttered a sharp, agonized cry, and the man above him swore in fierce, instinctive sympathy.

"Where are you hurt, old chap? Keep your head, for Heaven's sake! Where is it worst?"

The gasping voice made answer with spasmodic effort: "My head--my face--my eyes! Oh, G.o.d,--my eyes!"

There followed a cough as if something choked all utterance, and then again that mute, gigantic struggle for freedom.

It was over at last. Out of the wreckage there staggered the dreadful likeness of a man. The lantern had been brought and shone full upon the ghastly sight. He was torn, battered, half-naked, and the whole of his face was blackened and streaming with blood.

"Noel! Is it Noel?" asked Colonel Bradlaw.

And the man himself made answer, spitting forth the blood that impeded his utterance.

"Yes, it's me! But I'm done, sir! I'm done! Bring a light someone! I can't see--where I'm going!"

The moonstone-seller's arm was round him, holding him up. "All right, lad! I've got you!" he said.

"But bring a light! Bring a light!" A note of panic ran through the reiterated words "Confound it! I must see--I will see--I--"

"My dear lad, you can't see for a minute." It was Nick's voice, quick and soothing. "This infernal blood has got into your eyes. Come and have them attended to! You'll be better directly."

"No! It's not the blood! It's not the blood!" The words tumbled over each other, well-nigh incoherent in their fevered utterance. And suddenly Noel flung up his arms above his head with a wild and anguished cry. "My G.o.d! I'm blind! I'm blind!"

With the cry his strength--that fiery strength born of emergency--collapsed quite suddenly. His knees doubled under him. He fell forward in utter, overwhelming impotence, and lay p.r.o.ne and senseless at the Colonel's feet....