A yell of terror broke from Mrs. May, a yell that rang to the roof. She jumped to her feet only to sink again with the pain of the injured limb. She seemed to have lost all control of herself; she turned and addressed Tchigorsky in some liquid tongue that conveyed nothing to any one except that she was denouncing the Russian in a fury of passionate anger.
Geoffrey had risen, too, greatly alarmed. From the head of the table, Ralph Ravenspur coolly demanded to know what it was all about.
"The man is mad," Mrs. May screamed. "He is a dangerous lunatic. Those are the black bees of Tibet. They are the most fearsome of insects. Ah!"
One of the droning objects dropped on her hand, and she yelled again. She was a picture of abject and pitiable terror.
"I am doomed, doomed," she moaned. "Killed by a careless madman."
"Is there any danger?" Geoffrey demanded.
Only the life led among so many perils caused the family to wait calmly for the next and most dramatic development. Perhaps the way in which Tchigorsky was behaving gave them confidence. If he was a madman, as Mrs. May asserted, then the madman was wonderfully calm and placid.
"You are alarming yourself unnecessarily," he said. "See here."
He reached over and took the bee from Mrs. May's arm. The insect had become entangled in her sleeve and was buzzing angrily.
"The little creature is furious," he said. "As a matter of fact, they are always more or less furious. If there is any danger there is danger now."