Stooping, he was about to enter the passage, when, with a snarl of rage, the form of the wolf-man rose before him. The next instant he and the loathsome savage were locked in a death-grip.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
IN THE VAULTS.
A MOMENT they swayed and wrestled; then Seymour broke away from the grip of his enemy, and leapt backward. Snarling savagely, the wolf-man crouched, and leapt for the baronet’s throat. But the latter was prepared. Quick as thought his fist shot out, and before the sledgehammer stroke the savage crashed backward with a scream.
Ere he could rise Seymour was upon him, all the pent-up hatred in his nature finding vent as he choked out the life of the hideous creature. In vain the savage struggled beneath that iron grip. The Englishman, for the moment, was absolutely merciless, every better feeling sunk in one of murderous revenge. A grim satisfaction took possession of him as he watched the fear of death grow in the savage’s bulging eyes, a satisfaction complete only when the creature’s movements ceased, when, with a last convulsive shudder, he lay still and silent for ever.
Leaving the body where it lay, Seymour rose and entered the tunnel, whence the light still streamed. Along this he advanced for perhaps fifty yards, the light growing brighter with every step he took; then he emerged into another large chamber, to stand for a moment startled at the scene which met his eye.
In the centre of the great vault stood a throne, in shape like a large chair, and ornamented with many strange hieroglyphics; and upon it, grim and silent, with mouth agape and eyes that stared unblinkingly before him, sat a man. A jewel, like to that which Chenobi, the king, wore, was bound upon his forehead, and its radiance filled the whole chamber.
There was something so sinister about the silent figure that the baronet almost feared to advance; but at length, putting on a bold front, he strode forward. Halting within a few paces of the throne, he spoke the Ayuti salutation:
“Wabozi”
But the figure answered never a word, showed no sign that he was conscious of Seymour’s presence. Stretching forth his hand, the latter gently touched the man’s fingers. They were cold as ice, and, with a shock, the baronet realised that he was in the presence of the dead.