Читать книгу A King by Night онлайн

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Bidding the girl an abrupt good-night, he crossed the road rapidly in the direction of the machine, and, as he did so, the green car shot forward at a rapid rate, and by the time the doctor had come to where it stood, he saw only the red tail-lights disappearing in the direction of the National Gallery.

Turning, he walked thoughtfully up the hill toward Piccadilly Circus, his mind intent upon the interview and its strange sequel. Who could be trailing them? And with what object?

At the end of the Haymarket a few lines on a newspaper bill caught his eye.

"THE TERROR AT LARGE AGAIN."

He bought a paper, and, stepping into the brightly-lit Tube station, he turned the pages and found the story.

"After three months' inactivity, the Terror is at large again. He was seen last night in the neighbourhood of Southampton. The country is terrorized. Mr. Morden, a farmer near Eastleigh, gives the following account of his meeting with this ruthless and indiscriminate murderer.

"'About half-past ten last night,' he said, speaking to a Standard man, 'I heard the dogs barking near the cowshed, and went out with a storm lantern and my gun, thinking that a fox had broken into the poultry yard. Just as I crossed the court, I heard a terrific yelp and ran toward the sound, which came from the kennel where one of my best dogs was chained. I soon discovered the cause. The dog was dead: his skull had been beaten in by a stake. I put up both hammers of the gun, and released the second dog, who immediately darted off toward the pastures, with me at his heels. It was a fairly bright night, and as I crossed the stile, I saw the Terror distinctly. He was a man of about six foot three in height, and, except for a pair of light-coloured trousers, he wore no clothes, being bare from the waist upward. I have never seen a more powerful-looking man in my life; he was a giant compared with me. He struck at the dog and missed him, and old Jack came yelping back to me, and I could see he was scared. I put up my gun and called on the man to surrender. He stood stock-still, and thinking that I had got him, I walked slowly toward him, my gun covering him. Then I saw his face. It was the most horrible-looking face I could imagine: a broad nose like a negro's, a big mouth that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, and practically no forehead. I could hear my men coming after me, and I got closer than I should have done. Suddenly he struck at me with a stick, and the gun flew from my hand, both cartridges exploding as it did so. I thought it was my finish, for I had no other weapon, and as he brought up the big stake in both of his powerful hands, I stood paralysed with fear. Then, for some reason, he changed his mind, and flew, at a speed which is incredible, across the fields toward the Highton Road.'