Part 44 (1/2)

Like a sudden revelation, or a bolt out of the blue, there leaped up in Nick's mind a possible way of escape.

He thought of Cervera's garments, of the fluffy lace skirts beneath her gown, to which a single flash of fire would instantly prove fatal.

The resort to such means seemed horrible--yet Nick well knew it was the one and only resource left him.

He glanced sharply at Cervera. She was still listening at the door, with her evil face a picture of intense suspense.

With a quick turn of his wrist, Nick succeeded in extracting the box from his pocket. Then he forced it open, and with a move of his hand he scattered its entire contents over the floor around his chair. The tiny matches fell with scarce a sound, and Cervera, ten feet away, failed to hear them.

Then Nick quietly worked his chair back a foot or two, in order to bring some of the fateful things upon the floor directly in front of him.

A moment later Cervera turned from the door.

”Thunder--it was thunder,” she muttered, under her breath. ”There's a storm outside.”

”Somebody coming?” queried Nick, with taunting accents.

He now aimed to provoke her, to force the situation to a climax, lest any mischance should have befallen Chick, or perverted in any way his own designs upon Kilgore and the gang. His taunting remark proved effective, moreover.

With a snarl of rage Cervera darted toward him, with eyes for him alone, never for the floor.

”You dog!” she cried, through her white teeth.

”Do you mock me again?”

”Oh! no, of course not,” sneered Nick.

”You lie! You do! You think some one will come--that you will then escape me,” screamed Cervera, quivering through and through with venomous pa.s.sion.

Nick watched her as a cat watches a mouse.

Her face was ghastly and distorted, her breast heaving, her every nerve quivering, and her eyes were like b.a.l.l.s of fire under their knitted brows.

Still clutching the poniard, her jeweled fingers worked convulsively around its haft, like those of one who fain would strike a death blow, yet whose hand was briefly held by consuming horror.

Suddenly she darted nearer, with a vicious snarl.

”You think you'll escape me,” she screamed, with bitter ferocity. ”It shows in your eyes. I'll make sure that you don't. Let come who may, you shall be found--dead! Dead!--do you hear?”

”Oh! yes, I hear.”

”Yet you do not fear? We'll see--we'll see!”

She darted closer to him, with the weapon raised, above her head, and her knee touched Nick's knee. He swung quickly around toward her, and sc.r.a.ped his feet over the floor below her skirts.

Then came a quick, furious snapping, like the noise of a miniature fusillade. A score of the matches had been ignited by Nick's swift move.

Almost instantly a shriek of terror broke from Cervera's lips, and she reeled back, clutching wildly at her skirts.