Anyhow, it was there; and Jenkins pointed excitedly.
"Look, sir! You can see it moving under the silk!"
By Jove, so you could! And the thing seemed nearly as big as a rat. It was making for the end of the leg. I climbed upon a chair.
"Get a club," I exclaimed, "and smash the thing as it comes out!"
Jenkins rushed out and returned with a brassie.
"Careful now," I warned from the chair. "Don't go and hit the dashed thing before it gets out, and make a devil of a mess on the silk! There it is—it's out! No, no—not yet! Wait, until it gets its whole body out! There now; he's drawing out his last beastly leg. Now—now let drive!"
And he did, and seemed to hit the thing squarely.
I knelt on the chair and craned over, while Jenkins still held the stick tightly at the point where the thing had struck.
"Get him?" I queried. "Where is it?"
"That's it, sir," said Jenkins in an odd voice. "It ain't here."