The Back-seat Murder by Herman Landon

Author:Herman Landon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phocion Publishing
Published: 2019-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XV — The Two Voices

With difficulty Harrington turned over on his back. There were sounds in the air—sharp, piercing sounds that transported him from a state of semi-stupor to a complete awakening. Though they seemed to come from a near-by source, they meant absolutely nothing. There was a dull pain in his head that made it impossible for him to comprehend the meaning of things.

Sunlight was pouring in through the window in the roof, striking the room at an angle which, had he been able to reason it out, would have told him that the day was far advanced. Stray impressions, dim and very remote, trudged through his brain. Now it was a laugh—a soft, gloating sort of laugh. Now it was something about a coffin—Pharaoh’s coffin. And now he heard those piercing sounds again.

“Somebody screaming,” he thought, but the thought made no impression. It was only two meaningless words that his brain refused to take hold of. But the laugh seemed a tangible thing, though several hours had passed since he heard it And the allusion to Pharaoh’s coffin was coupled in his mind with a picture of a very white face impressed with a shadowy smile.

And then he remembered. Yes, Carstairs had tricked him very cleverly. Good actor, that Carstairs. He had almost convinced him that black was white and that white was black. Very subtly, without apparent effort, he had conveyed the idea that Carmody was the black sheep and he, Carstairs, the white one. It was the effortlessness that put the impression across. He had only been playing for time, of course, temporizing until Stoddard could come to his aid. And Stoddard had come to his aid with a bludgeon.

Harrington felt his head. There was a swelling on the left side. Now it throbbed sharply, now it was only a dull ache, but all the time it made his thoughts spin around in circles. They swung from a gloating laugh to a coffin, and then to a succession of loud cries.

And now, of a sudden, those loud cries seemed to drive all the other things into the background. He lay very still. A film oozed away from his brain. The cries, composed of one high trembling note after another, formed pictures in his mind, and the outstanding picture was one of Theresa Lanyard with her small, lovely face, her lovely gray eyes, and her lovely black hair. All at once his disordered thoughts crystallized in a single sharp impression.

It was Theresa who was uttering those cries!

The thought was like a lash on his nerves. He tried to jump up, but something held him back. He could not move his arms or legs. His arms were tied behind his back, and his legs were incapacitated by cords applied just above his ankles.

He groaned and his head sank back to the cot on which he was lying. And now the screams rang out louder and louder, shriller and more piercing. His imagination pictured a scene of horror. The fiends were torturing her!

A cold sweat broke out on his face.

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