I realized the truth of his assertion, and the justness of his anger.
“Forgive me, old man,” I said, very crestfallen, “but my impulse was a natural one, you’ll admit. You must remember that I have been trained never to refuse aid when aid is asked.”
“Shut up, Petrie!” he growled; “forget it.”
The cries had ceased now, entirely, and a peal of thunder, louder than any yet, echoed over distant Sedgemoor. The chasm of light splitting the heavens closed in, leaving the night wholly black.
“Don’t talk!” rapped Smith; “act! You wedged your door?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get into that cupboard, have your Browning ready, and keep the door very slightly ajar.”
He was in that mood of repressed fever which I knew and which always communicated itself to me. I spoke no further word, but stepped into the wardrobe indicated and drew the door nearly shut. The recess just accommodated me, and through the aperture I could see the bed, vaguely, the open window, and part of the opposite wall. I saw Smith cross the floor, as a mighty clap of thunder boomed over the house.
A gleam of lightning flickered through the gloom.
I saw the bed for a moment, distinctly, and it appeared to me that Smith lay therein, with the sheets pulled up over his head. The light was gone, and I could hear big drops of rain pattering upon the leaden gutter below the open window.