Terror Keep · Chapter 9 (3/3)

Something touched the end of the rod, pushing it aside. Mr. Reeder turned the switch and a blinding ray of light leapt from the lamp and focused in a circle on the opposite wall of the corridor.

The door was open, but there was nothing human in sight.

And then, despite his wonderful nerve, his flesh began to go goosey, and a cold sensation tingled up his spine. Somebody was there⁠—hiding⁠—waiting for the man who carried the lamp, as they thought, to emerge.

Reaching out at a full arm’s length, he thrust the end of the rod through the doorway into the corridor.

Swish!

Something struck the rod and snapped it. The lamp fell on the floor, lens uppermost, and flooded the ceiling of the corridor. In an instant Reeder was off the bed, moving swiftly, till he came to the cover afforded by the wide-open door. Through the crack he had a limited view of what might happen outside.

There was a deadly silence. In the hall downstairs a clock ticked solemnly, whirred, and struck the quarter to three. But there was no movement; nothing came within the range of the upturned lamp, until⁠—

He had just a momentary flash of vision. The thin white face; the hairy lips parted in a grin; wild dirty white hair, and a bald crown; a short bristle of white beard; a claw-like hand reaching for the lamp⁠—

Pistol or rubber? Mr. Reeder elected the rubber. As the hand closed over the lamp, he left the cover of the room and struck. He heard a snarl like that of a wild beast; then the lamp was extinguished as the apparition staggered back, snapping the thin wire.

The corridor was in darkness. He struck again and missed; the violence of the stroke was such that he overbalanced and fell on one knee, and the truncheon flew from his grasp. He threw out his hand, gripped an arm, and with a quick jerk brought his capture into the room and switched on the light.

A round, soft hand, covered with a silken sleeve⁠—

As the lights leapt to life, he found himself looking into the pale face of Olga Crewe!