“Shall we go in?” whispered Hal.
“Nay, ’tis a trap,” said another man, whose hand and cutlass were one red mass.
“Nay, I’ll go,” said Hal stubbornly.
“I shouldn’t, lad,” said Blueneck, staunching the bleeding wound on his forehead as best he could.
Hal put his hand to a dark patch at his side and brought it away wet and sticky.
“Oh, what does it matter?” he said; taking a candle from the table he opened the door, holding the light above his head. Then he gasped and threw the door wide.
“Mother o’ God!” he exclaimed weakly. “Look!”
Blueneck and the others crowded behind him and they, too, gasped and fell back in astonishment.
In the centre of the room the flickering light showed a terrible bent little figure; it was a man, but the crouching attitude in which he stood suggested rather a beast of prey. He was literally surrounded with bodies, and he looked down at them with an almost ghoulish delight which was terrible to see. But only for a second; as soon as he became conscious of the little group in the doorway he straightened himself and stood smiling at them.
He was clothed only in his breeches and immaculate white shirt; his black kerchief was half off, showing the black curls beneath, while his white hands were clean and undyed.