At the same moment, Godfrey sprang to the door from which volumes of
heavy, scented smoke still eddied, and disappeared inside.
I scarcely noticed him; I was staring at that foul object on the
floor; and then I stared at Francisco Silva, motionless on the divan,
his eyes fixed on the crystal sphere, undisturbed amid all this terror
and tumult. It is impossible for me to remember him, as he was in that
moment, without admiration--yes, and a little awe.
But Godfrey's voice, shrill with excitement, brought me around with a
start.
"Lester!" he shouted. "Lend a hand here!"
Wondering what new horror lay in wait, I fought my way into the other
room, stumbled over the body of the Thug, barely saved myself, my
scalp prickling with terror, from falling upon it, and pitched forward
to where Godfrey was bending above that huddled shape I had glimpsed
through the smoke.
"Catch hold!" he panted; and choking, staggering, suffocating, we
dragged it into the outer room. "Get a window open!" he gasped. "Get a
window open!"
And Simmonds, whom nothing seemed to shake, groped along the wall
until he found a window, pulled the hangings back, threw up the sash,
and flung back the shutters.
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