At Gwen’s request I passed her the tin of mustard, and she held it like a smelling-bottle to her nostrils, to get relief from the disgusting fog. We began to pass it backward and forward to one another, and it was then that an inspiration—I think I may justly call it that—flashed into my brain.
With the tin in my hand I turned to face the great head again, waiting till the thin lips parted in one of their deep-drawn breaths. Then I tossed my missile accurately toward the open jaws, and like a flash of crimson the gums gaped wide and the yellow teeth closed upon it. For a single instant we saw it gleam brightly between them.
There was a scrunch and a grinding sound among the great fangs, and then the yellow powder sank bitingly into the saliva. The brute opened his mouth, and a bellow pealed out of the strained throat, enveloping us in a volume of merciless sound and hot, putrid air. The long pink tongue slavered and twisted between the burning gums, showing ruddy streaks where the metal had gashed it. In one such ragged wound a remnant of the bright tin was still sticking; the flaming paste of powder and saliva was filling the torn veins with agony.
He dashed his head desperately from side to side, slamming it on the hard rock sides of the cavern. His unearthly screams threatened to burst our ear-drums. He beat the air with his great clumsy foot, and we could hear the thunderous boom of his great tail against the timbers of the ship.
Finally with the swiftness of an escaping bird the tortured head fled out of the cave mouth, and we heard his great carcass drag and rustle from the cleft. The blessed sunlight began to flow down to us again, and the filthy stench began to fade.
I let go my grip upon the rock, and, more unwillingly, my encirclement of Gwen’s waist. I looked inquiringly into her eyes as I helped her up. She staggered as she rose, and for one delightful moment clung to me. I felt that mere courtesy bade me tender again my support, and so for two or three delicious seconds we stood. Then she found her voice and the ghost of a smile.
“I think you’re quite the cleverest person I ever met,” she said gratefully. “How on earth did you come to think of the mustard?”
“I really haven’t the least idea,” said I honestly. “His mouth was there and I had the tin in my hand. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to throw it in. The effect was more than I dared to hope for.”
She drew herself unostentatiously away from my arm as she spoke, and leaned against the rocks behind her.
“Well,” she remarked, “we’ve saved poor little Fidget, at any rate. Even if we’re doomed to be devoured we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that.”