As it turned out, McGinity had heard the same mysterious sound. Also, his eyes becoming more quickly adjusted to the darkness, being so much younger than mine, he saw something that had so far escaped my notice. Flecks of white on the floor, just to the right of us, in front of the heavily curtained French window.
Suddenly, he put his hand on my arm warningly. I heard him draw his breath sharply as he slowly rose, and tiptoed a few steps beyond where we were seated. As I craned forward to try to see what he was up to, he lit his cigarette lighter.
"My God! Look!" I heard him breathe; and, rising, I saw, in the flickering glimmer, a lot of white feathers on the floor. As his lighter quickly burned itself out, the room once more was in darkness. But I had seen enough in that momentary flash to realize that at last we had found something we were waiting for.
"What do you make out of those white feathers?" McGinity whispered, gripping my arm.
"It wouldn't surprise me a bit," I replied, "to find that Mr. Zzyx has killed Pat's white cockatoo."
"Yes; and I'll bet you anything he's somewhere close by, in one of these rooms, enjoying a cold bird, bones and all," his quick whisper came back. "That will account for the funny sound I've been hearing all the time we've been sitting here. Let's turn on the light—take a chance. What do you say?"
My memory of what immediately followed is rather blurred and confused. I have some memory of feeling my way through the library doorway, although how I accomplished it in the dark is more than I can figure out. What I most remember clearly is the strange, eerie sight that met our startled gaze after I had turned on the lights.
Crouching on the floor of the library, confronting us, was Mr. Zzyx, in his pajamas, and surrounded by feathers and bits of bone of the cockatoo, which obviously he had so cruelly slaughtered and devoured. And as we stood there gazing at him, he snarled at us like a wild beast defending its spoils.
Quick as a flash, McGinity's hand went to his hip pocket, but I restrained him. "Leave him alone," I advised. "Let him finish his feast."
"Pat's heart will be broken," McGinity sighed. "How could he do such a horrible, cruel thing?" He lit a cigarette.