Part 36 (1/2)

”It's like that book in the Bible where everybody begat everybody else,”

said Mildred seriously.

At first I thought she had made an apt and clever remark; but on thinking it over I couldn't quite see its relevancy. I turned and looked into her sweet face. Her eyes were dancing with brilliancy and her sensitive lips quivered. I feared, she was near to tears from the reaction of the shock.

Had Jones not been walking with us--but let that go, too.

We were now entering the Administration Building, almost running; and as soon as we came to the closed door of Dr. Quint's room, I could hear a commotion inside--desk drawers being pulled out and their contents dumped, curtains being jerked from their rings, an unmistakable sound indicating the ripping up of a carpet--and through all this din the agitated scuffle of footsteps.

I rapped on the door. No notice taken. I rapped and knocked and called in a low, distinct voice.

Suddenly I recollected I had a general pa.s.s-key on my ring which unlocked any door in the building. I nodded to Jones and to Mildred to stand aside, then, gently fitting the key, I suddenly pushed out the key which remained on the inside, turned the lock, and flung open the door.

A terrible sight presented itself: Dr. Quint, hair on end, both mustaches pulled out, s.h.i.+rt, cuffs, and white waistcoat smeared with blood, knelt amid the general wreckage on the floor, in the act of ripping up the carpet.

”Doctor!” I cried in a trembling voice. ”What have you done to Professor Boomly?”

He paused in his carpet ripping and looked around at us with a terrifying laugh.

”I've settled _him_!” he said. ”If you don't want to get all over dust you'd better keep out--”

”Quint!” I cried. ”Are you crazy?”

”Pretty nearly. Let me alone--”

”Where is Boomly!” I demanded in a tragic voice. ”Where is your old friend, Billy Boomly? Where is he, Quint? And what does _that_ mean--that pool of blood on the floor? Whose is it?”

”It's Bill's,” said Quint, coolly ripping up another breadth of carpet and peering under it.

”What!” I exclaimed. ”Do you admit that?”

”Certainly I admit it. I told him I'd terminate him if he meddled with my Silver Moon eggs.”

”You mean to say that you shed blood--the blood of your old friend--merely because he meddled with a miserable batch of b.u.t.terfly's eggs?” I asked, astounded.

”I certainly did shed his blood for just that particular thing! And listen; you're in my way--you're standing on a part of the carpet which I want to tear up. Do you mind moving?”

Such cold-blooded calmness infuriated me. I sprang at Quint, seized him, and shouted to Jones to tie his hands behind him with the blood-soaked handkerchief which lay on the floor.

At first, while Jones and I were engaged in the operation of securing the wretched man, Quint looked at us both as though surprised; then he grew angry and asked us what the devil we were about.

”Those who shed blood must answer for it!” I said solemnly.

”What? What's the matter with you?” he demanded in a rage. ”Shed blood?

What if I did? What's that to you? Untie this handkerchief, you unmentionable idiot!”

I looked at Jones:

”His mind totters,” I said hoa.r.s.ely.

”What's that!” cried Quint, struggling to get off the chair whither I had pushed him: but with my handkerchief we tied his ankles to the rung of the chair, heedless of his attempts to kick us, and sprang back out of range.