Simmonds saw it too, and retreated a step.
"We'd better keep out of there," he gasped, "till that little pet's put away in his basket."
But Godfrey seized his arm and dragged him back to the threshold of the door.
"Look, Simmonds," he cried, rubbing his dripping eyes fiercely, "there against the wall?—is there something there—or is it just the smoke?"
I looked, too, but at first saw nothing, for a cloud of smoke rolled down and blotted out the light from Godfrey's torch. Then it swirled aside, and against the farther wall I fancied I saw something—a shape, a huddled shape—grotesque—horrible, somehow....
I heard Godfrey's startled cry, saw his hand swing up, saw a tongue of yellow flame leap from his revolver.
And with the echo of the shot, came a scream—a scream piercing, unearthly, of terror unspeakable....
I saw the Thug spring into the air, his face distorted, his mouth open—I saw him tearing at something that swung from his neck—something horrible, that clung and twisted....
He tore the thing loose—it was only an instant, really, but it seemed an age—and, still shrieking, flung it full at us.
I was paralysed with terror, incapable of movement, staring dumbly—but Godfrey swept me aside so sharply that I almost fell.