“What foolery is this?” demanded Ilam slowly.
“It is part of a larger piece of foolery that has rescued you, Ilam,” Carpentaria replied, and he was crossing the room to approach Ilam, when he saw something in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and he started back.
Mrs. Ilam, the paralytic, roused in some strange way, either by the violence of the scenes at which she had assisted, or by the inexplicable influence of the music, was almost erect in her bed, and her trembling parchment hands had seized the revolver which Rosie had left on the floor, and she was endeavouring to point it between Jetsam’s shoulders. The other two men turned and saw the fatal and appalling movement of the aged creature, who was evidently in the grip of some tremendously powerful instinct—the kind of instinct that only dies with death.
Carpentaria alone retained his self-possession. With a swift and yet gentle movement he disarmed the terrible old woman, and she sank back, with streaming eyes, helpless and moveless as before. The incident was over in a few seconds.
“And now,” said Carpentaria, “I will hear your story, Mr. Jetsam. But first, we must lift this bed back to its proper-position.”
“Very well,” replied Jetsam, trembling in spite of himself. “You shall hear my story.”
The music ceased.