“Eh? What’s the matter?” Cranshaw spoke very sleepily, and smiled to himself.
“There’s something on my curtains!”
“Shake it off and go to sleep.”
A soft flurry of mosquito curtains, a subdued crash, and then a scuttling and tapping that once more ended abruptly. A gasp from Hobson.
“I say, the bally thing’s back!” he cried. “For God’s sake help me out, Cranshaw!”
“It’s only a hermit crab wandered in, you fool. Wait—now take a look and give him a good fling off.”
Cranshaw’s arm protruded from his curtains, and he snapped the electric torch. He had no need where to look, for he had been expecting this visit from the junior partner for some time.
Hobson gripped his curtains in desperate haste and again shook off the thing that was climbing. He looked out, saw the hideous, bristly object clatter away on its spider-legs, and fell back with a subdued groan.
“Damn this place!”
Again silence and darkness fell upon the room, and again the noises of the night slowly seeped through the surf-thunder.