Yet he surmised that the ceiling must have softly opened, without
any sound at all, at the moment that he heard the greater number
of rats. He waited then to see what the rope would do; and at
first it hung as still as the great festoons dead spiders had made
in the corners; then as he watched it it began to sway. He looked
up into the dimness then to see who was swaying the rope; and for
a long time, as it seemed to him lying gripping his Castilian
sword on the floor he saw nothing clearly. And then he saw mine
host coming down the rope, hand over hand quite nimbly, as though
he lived by this business. In his right hand he held a poniard of
exceptional length, yet he managed to clutch the rope and hold the
poniard all the time with the same hand.
If there had been something hideous about the shadow of the spider
that came down from that height the shadow of mine host was indeed
demoniac. He too was like a spider, with his body at no time
slender all bunched up on the rope, and his shadow was six times
his size: you could turn from the spider's shadow to the spider
and see that it was for the most part a fancy of the candle half
crazed by the draughts, but to turn from mine host's shadow to
himself and to see his wicked eyes was to say that the candle's
wildest fears were true. So he climbed down his rope holding his
poniard upward. But when he came within perhaps ten feet of the
bed he pointed it downward and began to sway about.
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