Making the Nine

by Albertus T. Dudley

The watcher’s nervous tension gradually slackened, and he was just falling into a doze, when the scrape of a rubber sole on a stone surface brought him instantly to attention, as the nodding fisherman starts with the first tug at his line. The sound came clear in the dead silence, repeated at close intervals as the mysterious visitor crept along the ledge, setting foot after foot slowly and carefully in place.

At the first distinct noise Melvin had lifted himself upright in bed and listened intently and fearfully, with his heart madly thumping. Then as the steps drew nearer, and he realized that the opportunity which he had longed for was really to be granted, that the perpetrator of the crazy night pranks would soon be delivered into his hand, the uncanny spell of the night was instantly broken. Throwing off the useless noose from his finger, he slipped out of bed, and took his stand close to the wall beside the window.

It was a moonless night of flying clouds, and Melvin, peeping round the window casing, could barely distinguish the vague outline of the man outside, who, clinging to the window stops, was now trying to raise the lower sash.

“I’ll bet I know you, you lunatic!” thought Melvin, drawing back as the sash slowly lifted. “We’ll see who has the fun out of this night’s adventure.”

The visitor now had the window high enough to admit his head and shoulders; Melvin could hear the shirt scrape against the bottom of the sash as the intruder worked himself cautiously in. From this sound, as well as the noise of breathing, the waiting senior knew that his quarry was within the room as far as the waist. Was this the time to strike? Would the fellow come in still farther, or merely yell and withdraw beyond reach? In a flash Dick considered the question and came to his decision.

The intruder paused, listening for a sound from the bed. Then Dick heard the drawing of a long deep breath, and knew what it meant. A groan, awesome and sepulchral, broke the nocturnal stillness, then suddenly choked and ended in a gasp. Two strong arms caught the prowler’s waist like the jaws of a steel trap, and jerked the floundering legs through the window into the room.

Both went down together to the floor, when with the recollection that the owner of the room could not really be a very powerful adversary, the intruder recovered his presence of mind and fighting spirit. Sure of his prey, Dick let himself be rolled toward the side of the room where one of the pitchers stood; then with a quick wrestler’s turn he twisted himself on top, found the pitcher and emptied it on his enemy’s head.

While the prostrate boy gulped and sputtered and coughed, Melvin freed himself and groped his way to the electric light.

“I thought so,” he said coolly, as the light flashed upon Tompkins’s dripping head and the pool on the floor. “Come, my wild Western Injun, Brave-Man-not-afraid-of-the-Dark, who makes a specialty of frightening little boys! Take that towel and help mop up this water.”

They worked for a few minutes without a word. When the task was finished, Melvin tossed Tompkins a steamer rug from Littlefield’s sofa, and pointed to a chair.