He became a brilliant purple, but all he could utter was a furious humming, buzzing noise.
Meanwhile, Jones had opened the door; the little caterpillar, followed by Mildred and myself, continued to hustle along as though he knew quite well where he was going.
Down the hallway he went in undulating haste, past my door, we all following in silent excitement as we discovered that, parallel to the caterpillar's course, ran a gruesome trail of blood drops.
And when the little creature turned and made straight for the door of Professor Farrago, our revered chief, the excitement among us was terrific.
The caterpillar halted; I gently tried the door; it was open.
Instantly the caterpillar crossed the threshold, wriggling forward at top speed. We followed, peering fearfully around us. Nobody was visible.
Could Quint have dragged his victim here? By Heaven, he had! For the caterpillar was travelling straight under the lounge upon which Professor Farrago was accustomed to repose after luncheon, and, dropping on one knee, I saw a fat foot partly protruding from under the shirred edges of the fringed drapery.
"He's there!" I whispered, in an awed voice to the others.
"Courage, Miss Case! Try not to faint."
Jones turned and looked at her with that same odd expression; then he went over to where she stood and coolly passed one arm around her waist.