Choking, gasping, spitting, the pedestrian fought manfully to regain his breath. His face was purple with congested blood, and his glazed eyes were bulging. Great beads of sweat poured from his forehead and mingling with the froth that oozed from between his lips, flecked his face as he twisted his head from side to side in agony.
“What is the matter with you?” shouted Peret. “Speak! I want to help you.”
The stricken man made a violent effort to throw off the invisible horror that had him in its clutches. Then the muscles of his body relaxed, and he ceased to struggle. Drawing in a deep breath of air, he expelled it with a sharp whistling sound. Then, exhausted, he shook off Peret’s hand, and sank down on the pavement in a sitting posture.
“Sacrebleu!” yelled Peret. “Speak to me, my friend, so I can avenge you! One little word is all I ask. What attacked you?”
“I—I don’t know,” the man gasped. “It—It was something I could not see! It was a monster—an invisible monster. It whispered in my ear, and then it began to choke me. Oh, God—.”
His head fell forward; he began to sob weakly.
“An invisible monster,” repeated Peret, staring at the man curiously. “What do you mean by that?”
Before the man could reply, the police patrol-wagon swung around the corner and, with a clang of the bell, drew up to the curb. Detective Sergeant Strange of the homicide squad and two subordinates leaped to the sidewalk and approached the Frenchman.
“Well?” demanded Strange, with characteristic brevity.
“Murder,” returned Peret, with equal conciseness, and nodded at the two bodies on the pavement.