The waters moved; distinctly moved near to where I stood, and from their dark depths something appeared—I could not at first tell what.
What could it be? A monster of frightful mien? the ghost of some murdered man or woman? I could have believed in either just then. It was neither.
What then? A human hand, large and shapely, appeared distinctly on the surface of the pond. Nothing more, not even the wrist to which it might be attached. It did not beckon, or indeed move at all; it was as still as the hand of death.
I stood motionless and watched, while the outline of the hand became more clear; then I gave an awful shudder.
The hand was red.
I gave a shriek, and for a time remembered nothing more.
* * * * *
I awoke to consciousness, fighting. At first it seemed as if I was fighting with a phantom, but gradually my opponent became more real to me. It was Kaffar.
I had only a dim hazy idea of what I was doing, except that I sought to wrest from his hand a knife. We clutched each other savagely, and wrestled there on the edge of the pond. Weights seemed to hang upon my limbs, but I felt the stronger of the two. Gradually I knew I was mastering him—then all was blank.
* * * * *