Tales of Terror
6. The Brazilian Cat (continued)
I cannot undertake to say what happened. I was not in a fit
state to witness or to chronicle such events. I can only say that
I was suddenly conscious that his face was away from me--that he
was looking towards the animal.
"Good old Tommy!" he cried. "Good old Tommy!"
Then he came near the bars, with his back still towards me.
"Down, you stupid beast!" he roared. "Down, sir! Don't you
know your master?"
Suddenly even in my bemuddled brain a remembrance came of those
words of his when he had said that the taste of blood would turn
the cat into a fiend. My blood had done it, but he was to pay the
price.
"Get away!" he screamed. "Get away, you devil! Baldwin!
Baldwin! Oh, my God!"
And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again, with a
sound like the ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until
they were lost in the worrying snarl. And then, after I thought
that he was dead, I saw, as in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered,
blood-soaked figure running wildly round the room--and
that was the last glimpse which I had of him before I fainted once
again.
I was many months in my recovery--in fact, I cannot say that I
have ever recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry a
stick as a sign of my night with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, the
groom, and the other servants could not tell what had occurred,
when, drawn by the death-cries of their master, they found me
behind the bars, and his remains--or what they afterwards
discovered to be his remains--in the clutch of the creature which
he had reared. They stalled him off with hot irons, and afterwards
shot him through the loophole of the door before they could finally
extricate me. I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under the
roof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death for
several weeks. They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a
nurse from London, and in a month I was able to be carried to the
station, and so conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions.
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