The door was immediately opened and I saw the sad face of my sweetheart.
"Sir Philip!" she cried—then, seeing no one, she stopped, dismayed. Of a sudden she uttered a shriek and fell back into the room, back, back, clasping her hands to her neck and struggling to cry out. I guessed the reason instantly—Belleville had seized her by the throat. I sprang to her assistance, but paused again—by a miracle, in time—just across the threshold. Miss Ottley—I shall not, cannot call her Mrs. Belleville, though, indeed, she was—went spinning across the room, free, I saw. I slipped along the wall beside the lintel and waited, holding breath. What next? The door slammed and the bolt shot in answer to my question. Then came a long silence. Miss Ottley stood beside the farthest wall, supporting herself on the back of a saddle-bag chair, a picture of horror and fear personified. I would have given all the world for liberty to soothe her fears, to take her in my arms and comfort her. But it was not to be. Everything depended on my cunning and my silence. Tearing my glances from her ashen face, I looked around the room. It was her bedroom. The bed occupied one corner. Beside the canopy was an open window through which the light streamed in, striking full upon the door. Against another wall stood a Duchesse toilet table and a huge bemirrored clothes chest of carven ivory and ebony. The floor was covered with a thick pile carpet of dark crimson hue. The window curtains were of purple velvet. The bed's canopy of crimson silk. The walls were painted black and gold. It was, indeed, a mourning chamber.
"Who is it—who is it?" gasped the white-faced, black-robed mourner. I glanced at her again and saw that one hand was pressed tightly to her side.
No answer coming, she repeated her demand with more composure. Then a curious thing happened. A board creaked, and looking swiftly at the floor, I saw the imprint of a foot marked in the pile. It vanished and the pile sprang up again resiliently, but, twenty inches farther onward towards the girl, a second sole-shaped hollow formed itself and there remained. An instant's flashing search disclosed three others. I now knew for certain the position of my enemies, and with a wild heart-throb of joy I nerved myself for action. The shape of the footmarks showed me that both men faced the girl, and that they were standing about a yard apart. With two noiseless strides, I stepped behind the rearmost. Then I stooped and seized a pair of hard, lean thighs and heaved a body up and sent it hurling through the air above the second set of footprints. "I've got you again, you dog!" I cried; then stepped back swift and noiseless to my former place. The trick was perfectly successful. Silent, save for their heavy breathing and the trembling of their feet, the rascals writhed and stamped about the room, locked, doubtless, in a close embrace, although I could not see them. As for me, I slipped presently to a chair, caught it up, and guided by a sound, I brought it crashing down upon the head of one of them. There followed a heavy groan, then a dagger blade flashed out of nothingness and once, twice, thrice, it rose and fell. Murder was being done before my eyes, but I had only half a mind to stay it, and indeed, before I could the knife had vanished into mist again, and all to be seen was a dark flow of scarlet fluid that welled in air and sank upon the carpet. I waited spellbound. Which was alive—which was dead?
Belleville's voice put the question at rest suddenly. "Well done, Ptahmes," he gasped in Arabic. "He had me throttled when you struck. You shall have fifty pounds for this day's work."
"Thanks, good master." I returned and edged towards his voice. But at that moment Miss Ottley fell in a swoon, and death could hardly have availed to keep me from her side. With a bound I was across the room, and in another second she was in my arms.
Belleville must have seen, but thinking me the Arab, instead of chiding, he commended me. "Carry her to the laboratory," he commanded. "I'll follow with this carrion. We must dispose of it. Nay, wait. I'll go first. Damn him, how he bleeds!" he added in English. Then a little later, "He is wonderfully light for so tall and strong a man."
By then he must have had the Arab's body in his arms. I heard heavy footfalls stamping to the door. Carrying my burden, I followed them. The door opened and we both passed out. I hated the thought of taking my sweetheart to that room of horror, but I could not bear to leave her where she had been so terrified, to recover by herself. And in the next place I did not dare to let Belleville even for a moment out of my reach. He would soon be bound to discover his mistake and then the fight would be renewed with the advantage all on his side, since he was armed with a weapon, which, it was evident, he could conceal till the time came for using it. Prudence demanded that I should seize and disarm Belleville before his suspicions became excited. Prudence also demanded that I should leave my sweetheart somewhere on the journey. But I could not bring myself to do the latter, her face so near to mine, her breath upon my lips. That is why I went to the laboratory, and why I took her with me.