We were silent. There lay Bob. Close beside him lay the creature. A few
more inches to the left, and he would have fallen on and squashed it flat.
It had fallen on its back. Its feelers were extended upward. They were
writhing and twisting and turning in the air.
Tress was the first to speak.
"I think a little brandy won't be amiss." Emptying the remainder of the
brandy into a glass, he swallowed it at a draught. "Now for a closer
examination of our friend." Taking a pair of tongs from the grate he
nipped the creature between them. He deposited it upon the table. "I
rather fancy that this is a case for dissection."
He took a penknife from his waistcoat pocket. Opening the large blade, he
thrust its point into the object on the table. Little or no resistance
seemed to be offered to the passage of the blade, but as it was inserted
the tentacula simultaneously began to writhe and twist. Tress withdrew the
knife.
"I thought so!" He held the blade out for our inspection. The point was
covered with some viscid-looking matter. "That's blood! The thing's
alive!"
"Alive!"
"Alive! That's the secret of the whole performance!"
"But--"
"But me no buts, my Pugh! The mystery's exploded! One more ghost is lost
to the world! The person from whom I _obtained_ that pipe was an Indian
juggler--up to many tricks of the trade.
Pages:
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438