Throwing back the covers he gathered himself for a spring. Clearing the footboard he landed in the center of the room and dashed in the direction of the window. Something brushed by him as he reached the window sill and he clutched at it frantically. His fingers closed over a hand—a tiny hand.
A hoarse cry broke from Curtis and he almost loosened his grasp, then his grip tightened as his wits returned, and he pulled back—and lost his balance.
A piercing scream of such anguished intensity that it chilled the blood in the hearer’s veins rang through the night, and echoed and reechoed in Curtis’ ears as he staggered to his knees—a severed hand in his grasp.
With his heart pounding like a mill race Curtis touched the captured hand at the wrist where it had been severed. His fingers encountered hair—hair?—no, fur.
Curtis’ overcharged nerves gave way to a gurgling, choking laugh, and he sank down on the floor. It was no human hand that he held—it was a monkey’s paw.
An incessant pounding on his door aroused Curtis. Stopping at his bureau, he picked up a handkerchief and wrapped the monkey’s paw in it and thrust it inside the drawer. When he opened the hall door he found several excited servants facing him.
“If Monsieur pleases,” gasped Susanne, Gretchen’s terrified face peering over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“A nightmare,” he responded. “I am sorry. Good night.”
CHAPTER XVII
UNDER LOCK AND KEY