"I have every reason to believe so, but he would never make me any
allowance." "No, no, I have heard of his miserly ways. My poor Marshall, your
position has been a very hard one. By the way, have you heard any news
of Lord Southerton's health lately?" "He has always been in a critical condition ever since my childhood." "Exactly--a creaking hinge, if ever there was one. Your inheritance
may be a long way off. Dear me, how awkwardly situated you are!" "I had some hopes, sir, that you, knowing all the facts, might be
inclined to advance----"

"Don't say another word, my dear boy," he cried, with the utmost
cordiality; "we shall talk it over tonight, and I give you my word that
whatever is in my power shall be done." I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a close, for it is
unpleasant to feel that there is one person in the house who eagerly
desires your departure. Mrs. King's sallow face and forbidding eyes
had become more and more hateful to me. She was no longer actively
rude--her fear of her husband prevented her--but she pushed her insane
jealousy to the extent of ignoring me, never addressing me, and in
every way making my stay at Greylands as uncomfortable as she could. So offensive was her manner during that last day, that I should
certainly have left had it not been for that interview with my host in
the evening which would, I hoped, retrieve my broken fortunes. It was very late when it occurred, for my relative, who had been
receiving even more telegrams than usual during the day, went off to
his study after dinner, and only emerged when the household had retired
to bed. I heard him go round locking the doors, as custom was of a
night, and finally he joined me in the billiard-room. His stout figure
was wrapped in a dressing-gown, and he wore a pair of red Turkish
slippers without any heels. Settling down into an arm-chair, he brewed
himself a glass of grog, in which I could not help noticing that the
whisky considerably predominated over the water. "My word!" said he, "what a night!" It was, indeed. The wind was howling and screaming round the house,
and the latticed windows rattled and shook as if they were coming in. The glow of the yellow lamps and the flavour of our cigars seemed the
brighter and more fragrant for the contrast. "Now, my boy," said my host, "we have the house and the night to
ourselves. Let me have an idea of how your affairs stand, and I will
see what can be done to set them in order. I wish to hear every
detail." Thus encouraged, I entered into a long exposition, in which all my
tradesmen and creditors from my landlord to my valet, figured in turn. I had notes in my pocket-book, and I marshalled my facts, and gave, I
flatter myself, a very businesslike statement of my own unbusinesslike
ways and lamentable position. I was depressed, however, to notice that
my companion's eyes were vacant and his attention elsewhere. When he
did occasionally throw out a remark it was so entirely perfunctory and
pointless, that I was sure he had not in the least followed my remarks. Every now and then he roused himself and put on some show of interest,
asking me to repeat or to explain more fully, but it was always to sink
once more into the same brown study. At last he rose and threw the end
of his cigar into the grate. "I'll tell you what, my boy," said he. "I never had a head for
figures, so you will excuse me. You must jot it all down upon paper,
and let me have a note of the amount. I'll understand it when I see it
in black and white." The proposal was encouraging. I promised to do so. "And now it's time we were in bed. By Jove, there's one o'clock
striking in the hall." The tingling of the chiming clock broke through the deep roar of the
gale. The wind was sweeping past with the rush of a great river. "I must see my cat before I go to bed," said my host. "A high wind
excites him. Will you come?" "Certainly," said I. "Then tread softly and don't speak, for everyone is asleep." We passed quietly down the lamp-lit Persian-rugged hall, and through
the door at the farther end. All was dark in the stone corridor, but a
stable lantern hung on a hook, and my host took it down and lit it. There was no grating visible in the passage, so I knew that the beast
was in its cage. "Come in!" said my relative, and opened the door. A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had really excited
the creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, we saw it, a
huge black mass coiled in the corner of its den and throwing a squat,
uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail switched angrily
among the straw. "Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers," said Everard King, holding
up the lantern and looking in at him. "What a black devil he looks,
doesn't he? I must give him a little supper to put him in a better
humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a moment?" I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door. "His larder is just outside here," said he. "You will excuse me for an
instant won't you?" He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp
metallic click behind him. That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of
terror passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery
turned me cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the
inner side. "Here!" I cried. "Let me out!" "All right! Don't make a row!" said my host from the passage. "You've
got the light all right." "Yes, but I don't care about being locked in alone like this." "Don't you?" I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. "You won't be alone
long." "Let me out, sir!" I repeated angrily. "I tell you I don't allow
practical jokes of this sort." "Practical is the word," said he, with another hateful chuckle. And
then suddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creak and
whine of the winch-handle turning and the rattle of the grating as it
passed through the slot. Great God, he was letting loose the Brazilian
cat! In the light of the lantern I saw the bars sliding slowly before me. Already there was an opening a foot wide at the farther end. With a
scream I seized the last bar with my hands and pulled with the strength
of a madman. I WAS a madman with rage and horror. For a minute or
more I held the thing motionless. I knew that he was straining with
all his force upon the handle, and that the leverage was sure to
overcome me. I gave inch by inch, my feet sliding along the stones,
and all the time I begged and prayed this inhuman monster to save me
from this horrible death. I conjured him by his kinship. I reminded
him that I was his guest; I begged to know what harm I had ever done
him. His only answers were the tugs and jerks upon the handle, each of
which, in spite of all my struggles, pulled another bar through the
opening. Clinging and clutching, I was dragged across the whole front
of the cage, until at last, with aching wrists and lacerated fingers, I
gave up the hopeless struggle.