And then, suddenly, piercing his
slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of one of the thunder
crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found himself
sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the
darkness, waiting for it to come again.
Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his
hands, a strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the
darkness the words which twice before had beat themselves
mysteriously into David Carrigan's brain--"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK
ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?"
And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another
breath which he knew was in that room.
IX
For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been
heard three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him
quiet. It was something which he could not explain afterward, the
sensation, perhaps, of one who feels himself confronted for a
moment by a presence more potent than that of flesh and blood.
BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times, twice in his sickness, some one
had cried out that name in his ears since the hour when St.
Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white carpet of sand.
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