The crystal claw

When at last I regained consciousness, after an interval I could not measure, my half-opened eyes fell upon a strange scene, one which at first seemed to be fantastic and unreal.

The room was unfamiliar, of good size and well-furnished but dimly lit, only one light showing in the electrolier in the centre. Even by that light I recognized that it was neglected and evidently had been long closed, for a strange close smell greeted my nostrils and I saw that dust lay thickly upon the round polished table in the centre.

Upon the table a small piece of candle was set upon a plate.

I tried to make out where I was and what had happened. But all I could tell was that I was seated in a cramped position, tied hand and foot. My limbs ached intolerably as though I had remained there many hours.

Suddenly I heard a movement in the shadow, the opening and closing of a door, and a moment later I saw silhouetted before me the figure of old Humphreys.

“Well?” he asked in a hard, sarcastic voice, “and how are you getting on now—eh?”

“I—I don’t know,” I replied so faintly that I could scarcely hear my own voice. “Where am I?”

“You are in my hands at last, Rex Yelverton,” he snarled. “You chose to interfere in matters that did not concern you. You have had plenty of warning. But as you refused to heed them I have decided to act.”

“What do you mean?” I cried in dismay. “What harm have I done you?”

The old man merely chuckled exultantly at the way I had fallen into the trap he had so cunningly prepared—with Feng’s aid, no doubt, I thought. I had all along believed the old cosmopolitan financier to be my friend. I sat aghast at the astounding discovery that he was my enemy. For a few seconds I remained speechless.

“Now,” he said in a deep vindictive voice, “there is but little time left. Look over yonder.”

He turned the switch and the room was instantly flooded with light, and as I gazed, dazzled by the sudden brightness, I saw seated in a chair within a few feet of me, a woman’s figure.

It was Thelma!

I shrieked her name, but only a faint sound escaped my lips, for my throat was dry and sore, and I could scarcely raise my voice above a hoarse whisper.

Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were closed, her face was white as marble, and her head hung inertly on one side. She was clearly unconscious.

It must have been her scream of terror that I had heard while we sat at dinner!

“What does this mean?” I demanded trying to rise. But my hands were secured tightly behind my back with a piece of rope, which had been passed through a hole in the wall behind me and secured upon the opposite side.

I was powerless to move more than six inches from the wall!

“It means that you have only five minutes more to live!” the old man answered slowly, with diabolical grin. “You escaped once by a miracle—but I have taken good care not to fail this time.”

“You assassin!” I cried, glaring at him and yet entirely powerless.

“That’s enough!” he cried, striking me a blow upon the cheek with his open hand.

“But I can’t understand!” I cried. “What harm have I done—or what has Thelma done?”

“It does not matter to either of you,” he laughed. “You love her. You’ve told me so. Well—in five minutes’ time you will be married to her—in death!”

My brain was clearing rapidly as the effect of the drug I had taken wore off and I was cool enough to think keenly to desire some means of escape. But, try as I would, I was powerless. The more I strained at my bonds the more cruelly the rope cut into my tortured wrists.

A flood of questions poured through my mind. What could have happened? Where was Stanley Audley? Was he in the hands of Feng, whom I now looked upon as Humphreys’ fellow conspirator? But, above all, what had I done—what had Thelma done to arouse Humphrey’s diabolical hatred?

Despite the pain I was suffering I made another furious effort to break loose. I strained, till I felt my very wrists must give way, to go to Thelma’s assistance. But I was held in a vise.

Thelma lay white as death. Was she, indeed, dead already at the hands of the bearded fiend who, I now thought, must be a lunatic.

My attention was diverted to Humphreys’ proceedings. I watched him closely, puzzled by what he was doing and utterly unable to comprehend his purpose.

From a cupboard in the room he brought out a tin of petrol. From his pocket he drew a large toy balloon of the kind which enterprising firms use to advertise their goods. It was not inflated, but limp and I remember that even in my bewilderment, I noticed that it was a bright yellow and bore painted upon it the name of a famous West End firm.

Using a small funnel he began very carefully to fill the balloon with petrol. I was surprised at the amount it held. The tin, which had been full, was nearly empty before he had finished.

Then, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, understanding of his horrible purpose burst upon my mind.

“My God!” I gasped, “you surely do not intend to burn us alive.”

“My dear young fellow, you have had every chance to escape, and yet you have refused, because of your silly love for Audley’s wife,” he said in hard, metallic tones. “This house, I may tell you, is ‘to let furnished.’ The board is now hidden in the shrubbery. The dinner served you was provided by a well-known firm of caterers who sent their man, whom I have dismissed. In a few moments this place will be a roaring furnace and a mystery-house to the Fire Brigade of the London County Council.”

Then with diabolical coolness he went on with his preparations.

Above the table was a handsome electrolier. To this, by means of a piece of string, he hung the petrol filled balloon so that it was suspended about a foot above the candle I had noticed on the table.

“You see,” he explained with a grin, “I light the candle and put it just below the balloon. You can spend the time—it might be half-an-hour perhaps—in imagining what is about to happen. The heat from this little candle will cause the petrol slowly to expand until it bursts the balloon. Then down comes the petrol on the candle and the whole house will be a roaring furnace in a couple of minutes. Do you understand?” and he laughed in my face.

I ground my teeth, but made no reply.

“Well, good-bye, Yelverton,” he said in a voice of affected cheeriness, and yet in triumph. “I wish you both a merry journey into the next world. Perhaps you’ll find her your soul-mate there. Who knows?”

Next instant he had switched off all the lights and left us alone.

Only that fatal candle flickered as gradually its heat was causing the fragile yellow balloon to expand to bursting point.

Soon it would explode and then we should both be burned alive. Nothing could possibly save us!

My heart sank. Once again, however, hope revived within me. I strove to tear myself free from my bonds. But it was useless.

I heard the front door close with a bang and then knew that the man who had entrapped us had left. No doubt he would be lurking in the vicinity in order to make sure of the result of his devilish handiwork.

I tried to rouse Thelma by calling to her. Apparently Humphreys had not troubled to bind her and if I could only awaken her she might be able to get help before it was too late. But I could not raise my voice above a hoarse whisper: no shrieks of mine could call assistance. And, I reflected, Thelma, even if she were not dead, must have been heavily drugged and would no doubt remain unconscious for some time. Humphreys would never have run the risk of leaving her free to move if she came to herself.

My brain whirling I gave up the struggle after one more ineffectual attempt to free myself and resigned myself to my fate.

Horror froze the blood in my veins as I gazed in agony first at Thelma, helpless and unconscious in her loveliness, and then at that innocent-looking toy balloon, charged with the deadliest menace, hanging only a few inches above the flickering candle. To my distorted imagination it appeared to be swelling monstrously and hideously. I felt myself stupidly wondering how much larger it would grow until it split and let loose a flood of fire in that silent room.

I realized the devilish ingenuity of the scheme. It was clear that once the balloon burst and the volatile spirit became ignited, the furniture and hangings of the room would burn with terrific violence. The fire could not be seen through the shuttered windows until practically the entire house was ablaze, even if at that late hour a chance passerby should come along. And before help could possibly reach the spot, the house would be a furnace. Every trace of the cause of the fire would be consumed: only our bodies, charred beyond all possible identification, would be found beneath the ruins. Our fate would remain unsolved and the fire would be relegated to the ever-growing list of London’s unsolved mysteries. I found myself dully speculating as to the insurance, realizing that the owner of the house would be duly recompensed, and that the assassin whom I had never even suspected would go scot free.

And above all, even in those swiftly flying moments, I still speculated as to Humphreys’ possible motive in a plot which, I was now convinced, must have been originally formed amid the snows of Switzerland—a plot between the mysterious doctor and the cosmopolitan financier who had posed as my friend. How could Hartley Humphreys, reputed millionaire, benefit by the extinction of two such humble lives as Thelma’s and my own? Murder is seldom or never motiveless, except it be committed by the homicidal maniac. Was Humphreys really insane or was he a cool, calculating, ruthless criminal, working out to its logical end some plan to which I had not the key?

At any rate, so far as we were concerned, we were faced by instant peril. Humphreys had laid his plans well. We had no possible loophole for escape. I was pinned and could not budge from the wall against which I was held. If I had been handcuffed—and handcuffs can be bought of many gun-makers in London—they would have remained as tell-tale evidence amid the débris of the fire. That length of rope showed how cleverly the plot had been devised so that all evidence of the murders would be effaced by the roaring flames.

By the faint light of the candle I could scarcely discern more than the marble face of the girl I had grown to love. My eyes ever and anon wandered to that yellow globe suspended above the table.

At any second it might burst. Then the flames would run rioting through the room and in a moment we should be enveloped.

Again I tried to shout for assistance.

All was silent. The candle flickered and then again grew brighter.

“Thelma!” I shrieked in my agony, but my voice was only a whisper.

“Thelma! Thelma! My God! Thelma!” I cried, trying in vain to arouse her.

But she still remained there with her beautiful head drooped in a manner which showed that either death or unconsciousness had overtaken her.

I realized that death was very close to both of us. For myself I cared little. I could face it. But Thelma! Must I, loving her as I did, watch her die before my eyes?

Those moments of agony seemed like hours. Outside the circle of light thrown by the candle the room seemed dark and cavernous. The smell of motor-spirit hung heavily on the air and the silence was absolute. I could even hear my watch ticking in my pocket. Unless a miracle happened we were doomed. I had become too weak to make more than feeble efforts to free myself and these, of course, were futile.

“How much longer?” I caught myself asking. How long would it be before that innocent-looking globe splits asunder and lets loose its flood of fire. As the slow moments passed the pressure of the vapor within caused the thin film of rubber which held the inflammable spirit to swell larger and larger.

At first, I had noticed, it sagged heavily, dragged down by the weight of the liquid. Now the bright yellow globe was distended until it seemed on the very point of bursting. The white printed words of the advertisement on its sides danced mockingly before my eyes.

Now and again the flame of the candle flickered, caught by some stray breath of air. Then it steadied and grew bright. I noticed that the wax had begun to gutter into the plate. The evil flame fascinated me: held my eyes fixed on it in helpless horror.

By this time the balloon had become distended to twice its original size.

Suddenly the end came. The balloon split apart. A blaze of flame momentarily lit up the room and in its lurid glow I caught a glimpse of Thelma. At the same instant I heard a door open.

Then all was blackness and I knew no more.