The-Crawling-Death-Chapter-06

“Easy, old man, easy! This is only part of the performance,” I said. “We are going to remain for the whole show.”

Do not think that I am endowed with any superlative degree of courage. I am not. If I had obeyed my natural impulse I should have fled in a panic that instant. In fact, I should never have gone into the room. But I had undertaken this thing deliberately. I knew, or believed I knew, the conditions and consequences. If this were mere trickery, a close and careful investigation would reveal it. If it were of supernatural origin and some male-
volent force was at work in this room, I was convinced that a cool and fearless attitude would overcome it.

The whole matter lay with one’s nerves. If one had absolute control over them, the powers of darkness could in-
flict no injury. My studies and investi-
gations into the occult assured me of this. And it was because Jim had no such as-
surance, because his courage was purely physical, that I was apprehensive on his account.

As if in contradiction to my thoughts, he uttered a grim laugh.

“Well,” he said, “if this is an invita-
tion for us to go to bed, I’m going to ac-
cept.” And, handing me the flashlight, he deliberately walked over and threw himself upon the bed.

“It’s too early, Jim,” I said, vastly re-
lieved at this display of nerve. “I’m not a bit sleepy, and besides we have some work to do.”

Suddenly he sprang to his feet and brushed his clothes violently.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“The rats in this house are awfully cheeky,” he said. “I felt two as big as cats crawling up my legs.”

I had seen no rats, although I had kept the circle of light full upon him.

We had brought a coil of wire and some electric fixtures, and while I held the door open, Jim tapped the hall wires and in a few minutes we felt more com-
fortable in a well-lighted and ventilated room.

A large, old-fashioned grate occupied one end of the room, and as on our first visit we had discovered a fuel box in one of the empty rooms, we presently had a cheerful fire burning.

I had brought the book from the li-
brary which had so interested me, and, lighting my pipe and finding an easy chair, I prepared for such comfort as I might enjoy under the circumstances. I looked up from time to time at Jim, who was reclining on a couch, smoking plac-
idly.

“Jim,” I asked presently, “did you ever read ‘The Haunted and the Haunt-
ers’?”

“No,” he replied, “what’s it about?”

“It’s a ghost story with two men in a similar position to our own. One of them ran!”

“And left the other in the lurch? He must have been a rum guy; but that’s the way with stories. They’re always mak-
ing a hero of one and a coward of the other fellow.

“Say, Dick,” he continued, with a yawn, “let’s have a game of Cribbage.”

“Good thought,” I answered. “Got a deck of cards?”

“Yes, I brought ’em along for the pur-
pose.”

While we were arranging the table and chairs, Jim walked over to what ap-
peared to be a heavy, box-like frame on the far wall.

“Hello!” he said, and then: “It’s a picture with its face turned toward the wall.”

He proceeded at once to turn the pic-
ture, for such it was, face outward. It proved to be a full length portrait of a young man of twenty-five or there-
abouts, dressed richly in the style of the latter part of the Eighteenth Century. The face was an evil one, the eyes hard, the mouth cruel and treacherous. It was the likeness, undoubtedly, of one of the Ormonds, as the family characteristic stood forth prominently. The hands—enormous, monstrous hands—were de-
picted with careful detail as if the owner were proud of them.

The repugnant face, and those fearful hands, made a distinctly disagreeable im-
pression on me, and I asked Jim to re-
turn the picture to its former position. He endeavored to do so, but found it im-
movable. Again he tried with all his strength, and failed. And at that mo-
ment a horrid laugh sounded through the room. Jim turned on me, his lips twitching.

“What did you do that for?” he de-
manded.

“I didn’t,” I said. “But come, if it is any satisfaction to the owner of that face to have it exposed to view, why let it hang. Let’s get to our game.”

We drew up our chairs. Jim sat with his back to the picture, the hands of which drew my eyes like a magnet; the whole figure brooded over us like an evil spirit. We played indifferently for an hour. Jim stopped to fill and light his pipe. As he was about to reach for the deck which lay in the center of the table, it was quickly lifted and, unsupported in the air, the cards began to fall in two piles. We watched them with staring eyes and rigid muscles.

It happened so quickly I had been petrified into inaction.

With a cry of fear, I leaped to the door, only to have it slammed to in my face. With desperate, heart-breaking ef-
forts, I endeavored to wrench it open. Useless!

I was trapped, alone, in the room with the red paneled door!