The recollection of his frightful experience made the artist tremble. Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his face.
“Was Dr. Sprague still struggling with his—ah—antagonist when you were attacked?” questioned the major.
“I cannot say,” replied Deweese. “After I was attacked I had little thought to give to anything but my own defense.”
“The testimony of both Peret and the druggist show that Deweese and Sprague were attacked at practically the same time,” observed Strange, shifting his quid from east to west. “Both men struggled for a few seconds—about half a minute, according to Peret—and fell to the pavement at the same instant.”
“Then it appears that we have more than one thing to contend with,” interposed the major a little grimly. “Mr. Deweese, you are positive, are you, that you did not see the Thing? Think before you reply.”
“It is not necessary for me to think,” retorted the artist, “God knows, if I had seen the Thing I should not have been able to forget it this quickly!”
“When did you hear the Thing whisper—before or after it attacked you?”
“Before. After it hurled itself upon me I heard nothing.”
“But you felt it breathing in your face?”
“Not after the attack: no. It was immediately after I heard the whispering sound that I felt the Thing’s breath on my face. After that terrible grip became fastened on my throat, everything else became negligible.”