niche in one wall, weirdly illuminating that place of ghastly memories; there were braziers, branding-irons, with other instruments dear to the Black Ages, about me—and gagged, chained side by side against the opposite wall, lay Sir Lionel Barton and another man unknown to me!
Already Nayland Smith was bending over the intrepid explorer, whose fierce blue eyes glared out from the sun-tanned face madly, whose gray hair and mustache literally bristled with rage long repressed. I choked down the emotions that boiled and seethed within me, and sought to release the second captive, a stockily-built, clean- shaven man. First I removed the length of toweling which was tied firmly over his mouth; and—
'Thank you, sir,' he said composedly. 'The keys of these irons are on the ledge there beside the lantern. I broke the first ring I was chained to, but the Yellow devils overhauled me, all manacled as I was, half-way along the passage before I could attract your attention, and fixed me up to another and stronger ring!'
Ere he had finished speaking, the keys were in my hands, and I had unlocked the gyves from both the captives. Sir Lionel Barton, his gag removed, unloosed a torrent of pent-up wrath.
'The hell-fiends drugged me!' he shouted. 'That black villain Homopoulo doctored my tea! I woke in this damnable cell, the secret of which has been lost for generations!' He turned blazing blue eyes upon Kennedy. 'How did
'Homopoulo came running from your room, sir, and told me you were taken suddenly ill and that a doctor must be summoned without delay.'
'Well, well, you fool!'
'Dr. Hamilton was away, sir.'
'A false call beyond doubt!' snapped Smith.
'Therefore I went for the new doctor, Dr. Magnus, in the village. He came at once and I showed him up to your room. He sent Mrs. Oram out, leaving only Homopoulo and myself there, except yourself.'
'Well?'
'Sandbagged!' explained the man nonchalantly. 'Dr. Magnus, who is some kind of dago, is evidently one of the gang.'
'Sir Lionel!' cried Smith—'where does the passage lead to beyond that doorway?
'God knows!' was the answer, which dashed my last hope to the ground. 'I have no more idea than yourself. Perhaps … '
He ceased speaking. A sound had interrupted him, which, in those grim surroundings, lighted by the solitary lantern, translated my thoughts magically to Ancient Rome, to the Rome of Tigellinus, to the dungeons of Nero's Circus. Echoing eerily along the secret passages it came— the roaring and snarling of the lioness and the leopards.
Nayland Smith clapped his hand to his brow and stared at me almost frenziedly, then—
'God guard her!' he whispered. 'Either their plans, wherever they got them, are inaccurate, or in their panic they have mistaken the way.' … Wild cries now were mingling with the snarling of the beasts… . 'They have blundered into the old crypt!'
How we got out of the secret labyrinth of Graywater Park into the grounds and around the angle of the west wing to the ivy-grown, pointed door, where once the chapel had bee, I do not know. Light seemed to spring up about me, and half-clad servants to appear out of the void. Temporarily I was insane.
Sir Lionel Barton was behaving like a madman too, and like a madman he tore at the ancient bolts and precipitated himself into the stone-paved cloister barred with the moon-cast shadows of the Norman pillars. From behind the iron bars of the home of the leopards came now a fearsome growling and scuffling.
Smith held the light with a steady hand, whilst Kennedy forced the heavy bolts of the crypt door.
In leapt the fearless baronet among his savage pets, and in the ray of light from the electric lamp I saw that which turned my sick with horror. Prone beside a yawning gap in the floor lay Homopoulo, his throat torn indescribably and his white shirt-front smothered in blood. A black leopard, having its fore-paws upon the dead man's breast, turned blazing eyes upon us; a second crouched beside him.
Heaped up in a corner of the place, amongst the straw and litter of the lair, lay the Burmese dacoit, his sinewy fingers embedded in the throat of the third and largest leopard—which was dead—whilst the creature's gleaming fangs were buried in the tattered flesh of the man's shoulder.
Upon the straw beside the two, her slim, bare arms outstretched and her head pillowed upon them, so that her rippling hair completely concealed her face, lay Karamaneh… .
In a trice Barton leapt upon the great beast standing over Homopoulo, had him by the back of the neck and held him in his powerful hands whining with fear and helpless as a rat in the grip of a terrier. The second leopard fled into the inner lair.
So much I visualized in a flash; then all faded, and I knelt alone beside her whose life was my life, in a world grown suddenly empty and still.
Through long hours of agony I lived, hours contained within the span of seconds, the beloved head resting against my shoulder, whilst I searched for signs of life and dreaded to find ghastly wounds… . At first I could not credit the miracle; I could not receive the wondrous truth.
Karamaneh was quite uninjured and deep in drugged slumber!
'The leopards thought her dead,' whispered Smith brokenly, 'and never touched her!'
Chapter 37 THREE NIGHTS LATER
'Listen!' cried Sir Lionel Barton.
He stood upon the black rug before the massive, carven mantelpiece, a huge man in an appropriately huge setting.
I checked the words on my lips, and listened intently. Within Graywater Park all was still, for the hour was late. Outside, the rain was descending in a deluge, its continuous roar drowning any other sound that might have been discernible. Then, above it, I detected a noise that at first I found difficult to define.
'The howling of the leopards!' I suggested.
Sir Lionel shook his tawny head with impatience. Then, the sound growing louder, suddenly I knew it for what it was.
'Some one shouting!' I exclaimed—'some one who rides a galloping horse!'
'Coming here!' added Sir Lionel. 'Hark! he is at the door!'
A bell rang furiously, again and again sending its brazen clangor echoing through the great apartments and passages of Graywater.
'There goes Kennedy.'
Above the sibilant roaring of the rain I could hear some one releasing heavy bolts and bars. The servants had long since retired, as also had Karamaneh; but Sir Lionel's man remained wakeful and alert.
Sir Lionel made for the door, and I, standing up, was about to follow him, when Kennedy appeared, in his wake a bedraggled groom, hatless, and pale to the lips. His frightened eyes looked from face to face.
'Dr. Petrie?' he gasped interrogatively.
'Yes!' I said, a sudden dread assailing me. 'What is it?'
'Gad! it's Hamilton's man!' cried Barton.
'Mr. Nayland Smith, sir,' continued the groom brokenly—and all my fears were realized. 'He's been attacked, sir, on the road from the station, and Dr. Hamilton, to whose house he was carried——'
'Kennedy!' shouted Sir Lionel, 'get the Rolls-Royce out! Put your horse up here, my man, and come with us!'
He turned abruptly … as the groom, grasping at the wall, fell heavily to the floor.
'Good God!' I cried—'What's the matter with him?'
I bent over the prostrate man, making a rapid examination.
'His head! A nasty blow. Give me a hand, Sir Lionel; we must get him on to a couch.'
The unconscious man was laid upon a Chesterfield, and, ably assisted by the explorer, who was used to coping with such hurts as this, I attended to him as best I could. One of the men-servants had been aroused, and, just as he appeared in the doorway, I had the satisfaction of seeing Dr. Hamilton's groom open his eyes, and look
