“Where did this come from?” I cried in a dismayed voice, for the moment too shocked to reflect.
I fancied he shook upon his great gelatinous calves, that the little eyes set in the vast oyster of his face were blinking shiftily, alert to my movements while he turned over the dull masses of his brain for an answer.
“Rabbits—dinner,” at length he rumbled.
But I had realised it all while he stuck fast. Desperate in my heart-sickness, I made a hurried step to pass him; and instantly he moved backwards, and filled the doorway into the little front parlour by way of which I had hoped to escape into the forest.
“Let me pass,” I cried wildly. “I want air.”
He pointed to the copper.
“Not safe. That way.”
“I can’t,” I cried. “It was there I picked this up: you know it was.” Then I quite lost my reason. “You are a murderer!” I shrieked. “You are all murderers here! You rob and kill, and drag the poor bodies through and hide them in the cellar behind the door. Let me pass—I can’t live here—I can bear it no longer!”
I raved and cried; I beat helplessly on that huge drum of flesh. It stood stolid, insensible, completely stopping the aperture.
“Go—ask cap’en,” was all it said.