An evil chance drove him upon his victim on the very threshold of the hall; and he had him by the throat before the poor wretch could so much as guess his purpose.
“Here, here!” he yelled, holding up the stone. “I have the proof at length. You dog—you currish hypocrite, to be in the league against me!”
The man’s face had gone of a mortal whiteness. He struggled feebly.
“Master!” he gasped.
The other’s fury came to a bestial head. He threw down the stone and struck the poor creature on the mouth.
“Silence!” he shrieked. “I know it all!—I’ve heard all the truth, I tell you. You shall swing for it, by God! You shall——”
Mad to give expression to his ungovernable rage, he flung himself upon the shivering form, and seized and tore it along the passage, while it pleaded to him in hoarse terror, and clutched vainly at whatever projections came in its way.
Suddenly, conscious of his purpose, it gave up a shrill scream, and writhed frantically in his hands.
“No, no!” cried the man. “Not there—not there! Give me time to speak! Oh, my God! I shall go mad of the horror of that place!”
They had struggled to within a few feet of the “Priest’s Hole.” The flap yet remained open as Mr. Tuke had left it.