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Page 82
"But the plans have gone," said Weymouth. "It's magic! How was it done?
What happened last night, sir? What did you mean when you rang us up?"
Smith during this colloquy was pacing rapidly up and down the room.
He turned abruptly to the aviator.
"Every fact you can remember, Mr. West, please," he said tersely;
"and be as brief as you possibly can."
"I came in, as I said," explained West "about eleven o'clock and having
made some notes relating to an interview arranged for this morning,
I locked the plans in the safe and turned in."
"There was no one hidden anywhere in your chambers?" snapped Smith.
"There was not," replied West. "I looked. I invariably do.
Almost immediately, I went to sleep."
"How many chloral tabloids did you take?" I interrupted.
Norris West turned to me with a slow smile.
"You're cute, Doctor," he said. "I took two. It's a bad habit,
but I can't sleep without. They are specially made up for me
by a firm in Philadelphia."
"How long sleep lasted, when it became filled with uncanny dreams,
and when those dreams merged into reality, I do not know--
shall never know, I suppose. But out of the dreamless void
a face came to me--closer--closer--and peered into mine.
"I was in that curious condition wherein one knows
that one is dreaming and seeks to awaken--to escape.
But a nightmare-like oppression held me. So I must lie
and gaze into the seared yellow face that hung over me,
for it would drop so close that I could trace the cicatrized
scar running from the left ear to the corner of the mouth,
and drawing up the lip like the lip of a snarling cur.
I could look into the malignant, jaundiced eyes;
I could hear the dim whispering of the distorted mouth--
whispering that seemed to counsel something--something evil.
That whispering intimacy was indescribably repulsive.
Then the wicked yellow face would be withdrawn, and would recede
until it became as a pin's head in the darkness far above me--
almost like a glutinous, liquid thing.
"Somehow I got upon my feet, or dreamed I did--God knows where dreaming ended
and reality began. Gentlemen maybe you'll conclude I went mad last night,
but as I stood holding on to the bedrail I heard the blood throbbing through
my arteries with a noise like a screw-propeller. I started laughing.
The laughter issued from my lips with a shrill whistling sound that pierced
me with physical pain and seemed to wake the echoes of the whole block.
I thought myself I was going mad, and I tried to command my will--
to break the power of the chloral--for I concluded that I had accidentally
taken an overdose.
"Then the walls of my bedroom started to recede, till at last I
stood holding on to a bed which had shrunk to the size of a
doll's cot, in the middle of a room like Trafalgar Square!
That window yonder was such a long way off I could scarcely see it,
but I could just detect a Chinaman--the owner of the evil
yellow face--creeping through it. He was followed by another,
who was enormously tall--so tall that, as they came towards me
(and it seemed to take them something like half-an-hour to cross
this incredible apartment in my dream), the second Chinaman
seemed to tower over me like a cypress-tree.
"I looked up to his face--his wicked, hairless face.
Mr. Smith, whatever age I live to, I'll never forget
that face I saw last night--or did I see it? God knows!
The pointed chin, the great dome of a forehead, and the eyes--
heavens above, the huge green eyes!"
He shook like a sick man, and I glanced at Smith significantly.
Inspector Weymouth was stroking his mustache, and his mingled
expression of incredulity and curiosity was singular to behold.
"The pumping of my blood," continued West, "seemed to be
bursting my body; the room kept expanding and contracting.
One time the ceiling would be pressing down on my head,
and the Chinamen--sometimes I thought there were two of them,
sometimes twenty--became dwarfs; the next instant it shot up
like the roof of a cathedral.
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