I felt strong and slender fingers about my neck—Vargus the pianist!—and shuddered at the contact. The cloth was removed. It was as I thought: all round was the cathedral-like cave, but now dozens of lights were turned on, including a great blue arc-lamp suspended from the roof, and all the shadows and mystery were gone.
Not far away, resting upon rubber-covered wheels, which were dropped below the floats by an adaptation of the Raynor-Wallis patent, was the great Pirate Ship, towering up under the domed roof, spreading her great planes from side to side, lovely in her lines, an awful instrument of power. Even at that supreme moment I longed to examine her, to go aboard and make acquaintance with the wonders she held.
The ruling passion of a man's life dies hard!
CHAPTER XVI THE HOUNDS FROM THIBET AND MR. VARGUS; WITH A DISCOVERY ON BOARD THE PIRATE
They turned my chair so that I faced the mouth of the cave, which was some thirty yards away. The moon had set. The short summer night was over, and the first grey hint of the dawn, that I should never see, was near.
Helzephron sat down on a stool a few yards away from me. His back was to the cavern mouth. He spoke a word to Vargus, who padded away behind me.
"Why are we waiting?" I said.
"Because you had the misfortune to hear my friend Vargus pouring his soul out at the piano, Sir John."