"Bind him," said the Spaniard without passion. "Put down your blade, Don FIorenzo," commanded Dom Vincente, striding forward and dominating the scene. "Signor Desmarte, you are one of my best friends, but I am the only law here and duty must be done. Give your word that you will not seek to escape."
"I give it," replied the Gascon calmly. "I acted hastily. I apologize. I was not intentionally running away, but the halls and corridors of this cursed castle confuse me." Of us all, probably but one man believed him.
"Messieurs!" De Montour stepped forward. "This youth is not guilty. Turn the German over."
Two soldiers did as he asked. De Montour shuddered, pointing. The rest of us glanced once, then recoiled in horror.
"Could man have done that thing?" "With a dagger—" began someone.
"No dagger makes wounds like that," said the Spaniard: "The German was torn to pieces by the talons of some frightful beast."
We glanced about us, half expecting some hideous monster to leap upon us from the shadows.
We searched that castle; every foot, every inch of it. And we found no trace of any beast.
Dawn was breaking when I returned to my room, to find that Cola had barred himself in; and it took me nearly a half-hour to convince him to let me in. Having smacked him soundly and berated him for his cowardice, I told him what had taken place, as he could understand French and: could speak a weird mixture which he proudly called French.
His mouth gaped and only the whites of his eyes showed as the tale reached its climax.
"Ju ju!" he whispered fearsomely. "Fetish man!" Suddenly an idea came to me. I had heard vague tales, tittle more than hints of legends, of the devilish leopard cult that existed on the West Coast. No white man had ever seen one of its votaries, but Dom Vincente had told us tales of beast-men, disguised in skins of leopards, who stole through the midnight jungle and slew and devoured. A ghastly thrill traveled up and down my spine, and in an instant I had Gola in a grasp which made him veil.
"Was that a leopard-man?" I hissed, shaking him viciously.
"Massa, massa!" he gasped. "Me good boy! Ju ju man Qet! More besser no tell!"
"You'll tell—me!" I gritted, renewing my endeavors, until, his hands waving feeble protests, he promised to tell me what he knew.
"No leopard-man!" he whispered, and his eyes grew big with supernatural fear. "Moon, he full, woodcutter find, him heap clawed. Find 'nother woodcutter. Big Massa (Dom Vincente) say, 'leopard.' No leopard. But leopard- man, he come to kill. Something kill leopardman! Heap claw! Hai, hai! Moon full again. Something come in, lonely hut; claw um woman, claw um pick'nin. I an find um claw up. Big Massa say 'leopard..' Full moon again, and woodcutter find, heap clawed. Now come in castle. No leopard. But always footmarks of a man'."
I gave a startled, incredulous exclamation.
It was true, Gola averred. Always the footprints of a man led away from the scene of the murder. Then why did the natives not tell the Big Massa that he might hunt down the fiend? Here Gala assumed a crafty expression and whispered in my ear, The footprints were of a man who wore shoes!
Even assuming that Gola was lying, I felt a thrill of unexplainable horror. Who, then, did the natives believe was doing these frightful murders?
And he answered: Dom Vincente!
By this time, Messieurs, my mind was in a whirl. What was the meaning of all this? Who stew the German and sought to ravish Marcita? And as I reviewed the crime, it appeared to me that murder rather than rape was the object of the attack.
Why did de Montour warn us, and then appear to have knowledge of the crime, telling us that Desmarte was innocent and then proving it?
It was all beyond me.
The tale of the slaughter got among the natives, in spite of all we could do, and they appeared restless and nervous, and thrice that day Dom Vincente had a black lashed for insolence. A brooding atmosphere pervaded the castle.
I considered going to Dom Vincente with Gola's tale, but decided to wait awhile.
The women kept their chambers that, day, the men were restless and moody. Dom Vincente announced that the sentries would be doubled and some would patrol the corridors of the castle itself. I found myself musing cynically that if Gola's suspicions were true, sentries would be of little good.
I am not, Messieurs, a man to brook such a situation with patience. And I was young then. So as we drank before retiring, I flung my goblet on the table and angrily announced that in spite of man, beast or devil, I slept that night with doors flung wide. And I tramped angrily to my chamber.
Again, as on the first night, de Montour came. And his face was as a man who has looked into the gaping gates of hell.
"I have come," he said, "to ask you—nay, Monsieur, to implore you —to reconsider your rash determination." I shook my head impatiently..
"You are 'resolved? Yes? Then I ask you do to this for me, that after I enter my chamber, you will bolt my doors from the outside."
I did as he asked, and then made my way back to my chamber, my mind in a maze of wonderment. I had sent Gola to the slave quarters, and I laid rapier and dagger close at hand. Nor did I go to bed, but crouched in a great chair, in the darkness. Then I had much ado to keep from sleeping. To keep myself awake, I fell to musing on the strange words of de Montour. He seemed to be laboring under great excitement; his eyes hinted of ghastly mysteries known to him alone. And yet his face was not that of a wicked man.
Suddenly the notion took me to go to his chamber and talk with him.
Walking those dark passages was a shuddersome task, but eventually I stood before de Montour's door. I called softly. Silence. I reached out a hand and felt splintered fragments of wood. Hastily I struck flint and steel which I carried, and the flaming tinder showed the great oaken door sagging on its mighty hinges; showed a door smashed and splintered from the inside: And the chamber of de Montour was unoccupied.
Some instinct prompted me to hurry back to my room, swiftly but silently, shoeless feet treading softly. And as I neared the door, T was aware of something in the darkness before me. Something which crept in from a side corridor and glided stealthily along.
In a wild panic of, fear I leaped, striking wildly and aimlessly in the darkness. All my clenched fist encountered a human head, and something went down with a crash. Again I struck a light; a man lay senseless on the floor, and he was de Montour.
I thrust a candle into a niche in the Wall, and just then de Montour's eyes opened and he rose uncertainly. "You!" I exclaimed, hardly knowing what I said. "You, of all men!"
He merely nodded.
"You killed von Sehiller?"
"Yes."
I recoiled with a gasp of horror.
"Listen." He raised his hand. "Take your rapier and run me through. No man will touch you."
"No," I exclaimed. "I can not."
"Then, quick," he said hurriedly, "get into your chamber and bolt the door. Haste! It will return!"
"What will return?" I asked, with a thrill of horror. "If it will harm me, it will harm you. Come into the chamber with me."
"No, no!" he fairly shrieked, springing back from my outstretched arm. "Haste, haste! It left me for an instant, but it will return." Then in a low- pitched voice of indescribable horror: "It is returning. It is here now!"
And I felt a something, a formless, shapeless presence near. A thing of frightfulness.
De Montour was standing, legs braced, arms thrown back, fists clenched. The muscles bulged beneath his skin, his eyes widened and narrowed, the veins stood out upon his forehead as if in great physical effort. As I looked, to my horror, out of nothing, a shapeless, nameless something took vague form! Like a shadow it moved upon de Montour.
It was hovering about him! Good God, it was merging, becoming one with the man!
De Montour swayed; a great gasp escaped him. The dim thing vanished. De Montour wavered. Then he turned toward me, and may God grant that I never look on a face like that again!