The eyes were
no longer open. _The lids had closed!_
For a second he stood in a sort of stupefied astonishment. A push would
have toppled him over. Then he sprang to his feet and held a candle
close up to the picture. The eye-lids quivered, the eye-lashes trembled.
Then, right before his gaze, the eyes opened and looked straight into
his own. Two holes were cut in the panel and this pair of eyes, human
eyes, just fitted them.
As by a curious effect of magic, the strong fear that had governed him
ever since his entry into the house disappeared in a second. Anger
rushed into his heart and his chilled blood rose suddenly to boiling
point. Putting the candle down, he took two steps back into the room and
then flung himself forward with all his strength against the painted
panel. Instantly, and before the crash came, the eyes were withdrawn,
and two black spaces showed where they had been. The old huntsman was
eyeless. But the panel cracked and split inwards like a sheet of thin
cardboard; and Shorthouse, pistol in hand, thrust an arm through the
jagged aperture and, seizing a human leg, dragged out into the room--the
Jew!
Words rushed in such a torrent to his lips that they choked him.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309