Mechanically he found himself watching the second door. It was through that door that the menace of death would come.
Up on the platform they were whispering together.
His brain was clear, and he felt calm. He knew that whatever came out from behind that door would have the intention to kill. And he knew, also, that it was not the wish of the onlookers that he should triumph. It would not be a fair fight. In the moments of suspense he wondered in a kind of deliberate, leisurely way what was coming. They would not repeat the rattlesnake picture. That had already had its victim. In this arena one man had acted the part of fear with marvellous realism—perhaps others as well.
Cudgel in hand, ready and braced, with his free hand at his moustache, Colonel Wedge waited, his eyes fixed on the door.
“Ah, I think you understand now,” said a voice out of the shadows above. “We hope that this will make a fine film, the finest of this series that we have done yet.”
Wedge did not move a muscle.
“We rely on you to do your best for us.”
Somewhere at the bottom of his heart the Colonel registered a vow that if he ever got out of that place alive he would kill Dance.
A chuckle followed and then silence, except for the sizzling of the arc-lamps.
Then he heard a sound of clicking. The cinematograph machines had begun.