I lay wondering. Things assumed fantastic shapes. I could still hear that scuttling of rats behind the old paneling, and I recollected the narrow streak of moonlight which fell across the room from between the blind and the window-frame. I recollected too, the sharp brisk voice of my commercial friend, and moreover I once more saw, shining before me, that tiny gem like a human eye.
After a lapse of quiet I tried again to rouse myself. The room was still dark, and I listened again for the scuttling of the rats behind the paneling, but the only sounds I heard seemed to be faint whisperings. Then suddenly I seemed to hear drowsy sounds of bells, like the sweet beautiful carillon that I had heard from the tower at Antwerp.
I lay there bewildered and alarmed. I thought of Thelma—thoughts of her obsessed me. I did not know whether to believe in her or not. Was I a fool? In those dreamy moments I remembered my last visit to Bexhill when I had questioned her. She had trembled, I remember, and her lustrous eyes had scanned me with what now seemed to my tortured brain a remorseless and merciless scrutiny.
I recollected too, her words:—
“I am sorry, but I can’t tell you. I am under the promise of secrecy.”
The whole enigma was beyond me: in my half conscious state, the pall of a great darkness upon me, I felt my sense strung to breaking point.
CHAPTER XV
MORE DISCLOSURES
Ten minutes later I grew conscious of unfamiliar surroundings.
I was no longer in that dark old room at the Cross Keys, but in a bright airy little room enameled in white. I was lying upon a narrow iron bedstead and my nostrils were full of the pungent odor of some disinfectant—I think it was iodoform.
As I looked up I saw four faces peering anxiously down into mine. The first was that of a grey-bearded man in gold-rimmed spectacles, the second was that of an elderly nurse in uniform, the third I recognized as old Feng—and the fourth—I could scarce believe my eyes—was Thelma herself!