The Horror Megapack_ 25 Classic and Modern Horror Stories ( PDFDrive )

which Phillips was hanged. Phillips must have spread his blankets here, and—
ha? What the deuce is this?” Leaning forward suddenly he snatched a small
oblong of cardboard from the pavement close to the spot where the murdered
youth had been suspended from the hook.
His find was slightly larger than the ordinary playing card, backed with an
ornamental scroll design and bearing the device of a comely youth, hanged headdownward
from a grape-arbor, on its obverse side. The rope encircled the
hanged man’s left ankle, permitting his right foot and hands to hang free. Above
the picture was the Roman figure XII.
“H’m,” murmured the Professor, eyeing the square of pasteboard curiously.
“H’m-m. Where did this come from? I’m sure it wasn’t here this morning. Who
the dickens could have dropped it? It’s not a gambler’s card. No-o—”
thoughtfully—“it’s—by Jupiter, what’s that?”
Skilled in detecting significant sounds while burrowing in the earth in search
of buried Egyptians, or the long-forgotten civilizations of Ur and Susa, Professor
Forrester had caught the faint, persistent echo of some strange noise, apparently
rising from the ground to the west of the little room in which he stood.
Carefully, creeping forward like a cat stalking a sparrow, he moved on hands
and knees in the direction from which the sound came, stopped, listening intently
a moment, then sprawled full length on the brick pavement, putting his ear to the
cold clay blocks.
Clang—pause—clang—pause—clang, the sound repeated itself with
rhythmical insistence.
“Now, what the dickens is it?” the Professor asked himself petulantly after
several moments’ listening. “I’ve heard that noise before, somewhere, but
where?” He rose, dusting his trousers methodically, and turned toward the door.
“Who’s there?” challenged a gruff, unfamiliar voice as the portal was suddenly
blocked by a bulky form, an the gray winter light glinted evilly on the barrel of
leveled revolver.
“Er—” began the Professor, but the intruder lowere his weapon with an
apologetic laugh.
“I begs your parding, Professor Forrester, sir,” said the familiar, half-whining
tones of Procter, the butler. “Master sent me out ’ere to get ’im some whiskey,
sir, and, not hexpecting to find you here, as you might say you gave me quite a
start, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”
“Not at all,” the Professor assured him as he edged through the door. Almost
unconsciously, he noted that the butler eyed him suspiciously, and kept his pistol