“Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers,” said Everard King, holding up the lantern and looking in at him. “What a black devil he looks, doesn’t he? I must give him a little supper to put him in a better humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a moment?”
I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door.
“His larder is just outside here,” said he. “You will excuse me for an instant, won’t you?” He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp metallic click behind him.
That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terror passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned me cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the inner side.
“Here!” I cried. “Let me out!”
“All right! Don’t make a row!” said my host from the passage. “You’ve got the light all right.”
“Yes, but I don’t care about being locked in alone like this.”
“Don’t you?” I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. “You won’t be alone long.”
“Let me out, sir!” I repeated angrily. “I tell you I don’t allow practical jokes of this sort.”
“Practical is the word,” said he, with another hateful chuckle. And then suddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creak and whine of the winch-handle turning, and the rattle of the grating as it passed through the slot. Great God, he was letting loose the Brazilian cat!