“Come! We have but a moment. They are almost through!” and indeed I could hear the frantic blows with which the debris was being swept aside, could see the reflection of the torches’ glare. By a supreme effort I controlled the trembling which shook me.
“Very well, monsieur,” I said, as calmly as I could, “I am ready. What is it you propose?”
By the dim glare of the torches I could see his white face poised like a phantom’s in the air before me.
“Spoken like a man!” he said, and gripped my hand. “What I propose is this—we will hold this stair until they find they cannot carry it by assault; then, as they prepare their fire, we will ascend to the platform, bid the women good-by—God of Heaven!—what is that?”
I, too, heard the blood-curdling sound which came suddenly from one corner of the room. It was a sort of snarling whine, which rose and fell and rose again, mixed with a hideous panting which never stopped. There was something bestial about it—something appalling, inhuman—yet what beast could produce a sound like that?
Cautiously we approached the corner, sword in hand. Whatever it was, however formidable, we must have it out—we could run no risk of being taken in the rear. The great, draped bed loomed through the darkness, sinister and threatening. The sounds came from within it. As I stared with starting eyes I fancied I could see the curtains quiver, as though the Thing behind them was trembling with eagerness to spring upon us.
“A light! We must have a light!” cried M. le Comte, stamping his feet in an agony of impatience. “God’s blood! What is it, Tavernay?”
Gripping my teeth to restrain their chattering, I advanced to the bed and jerked down the rotting curtains. They fell in a suffocating shower of dust; yet even then I could see nothing of what lay behind. But the noise had ceased.
Then suddenly beside me rose a phantom, which, even as I drew back my arm to strike, seized my wrist and held it in a grip of steel.
“Not so fast, monsieur,” said a hoarse voice.