of the blood that dripped down upon him, through the ceiling? A slight shudder passed through him, and he told himself that he was chilly; but it was hardly the night air that caused that shudder.
Was a man dying over his head? Was he already dead? A human being was up there, his life fluid ebbing away, and Val could do nothing to help. He struggled blindly, furiously, with his bonds, and though he gained no material advantage, yet he profited by it, when once he had stopped his struggles, panting. It had steadied his mind and driven away this mysterious fear that had possessed his soul, that had entered into him regardless of the dictates of his reason. He felt more himself.
And that shriek? Who was that? Could it have been Jessica? He did not know—a feminine shriek, especially one such as he had heard, such as had congealed his blood momentarily, is sometimes a quite indistinguishable thing; it is a disembodied thing, knowing neither age nor color; it is simply the incarnation of terror, verbal and articulate.
There was still Teck to reckon with, Val thought. Teck and his man surely would be here soon; they had bound him, and for one purpose or another they were certain to return. He wondered, almost impersonally, whether Teck would put him out of the way permanently this time. He rather inclined to the idea that Teck would not; but then, it was not a thing anyone could be sure about. Not that Teck would hesitate at murder! Especially here, where he could do almost anything he cared to do, with no one any the wiser. But he had the feeling that the handless one was not yet ready to put an end to his existence summarily.
