Mr. Marx's Secret

  CHAPTER XIX. A STRANGE ATTACK.

  It could not in reality have been more than a minute or two, although itseemed to me then a terribly long while, before I again heard the soundwhich had attracted my attention. When I did, it was quite close at hand,just at the beginning of the range of farm-buildings which skirted theroad. There was no possibility of any mistake. The situation wassufficiently plain, at any rate. Scarcely fifty yards away a man wascoming running towards me, either barefooted or with very soft shoes on;and it was past midnight, pitch dark, and a lonely road.

  Nearer and nearer the steps came, and my heart began to beat very fastindeed. At last, peering earnestly through the gloom, I made out theshadowy figure of a man only a yard or two away from me, running in themiddle of the road, and a pair of wild, burning eyes glistened like fireagainst the dark background. I felt his warm, panting breath upon mycheek, heard a low, fierce cry, and a second later saw the figure give aspring sideways and vanish in the shade of the barn wall.

  I followed cautiously; but, although I groped about in all directions, Icould see nothing. So I stood quite still with my back to the wall, andcalled out softly:

  "Who are you? Why are you hiding from me?"

  No answer. I tried again:

  "I don't want to hurt you. I won't do you any harm. I only want to knowwho you are, and what----"

  I never finished the sentence. I became suddenly conscious of two glaringeyes looking at me, like pieces of live coal, from a crumpled heap on theground. Then there was a quick, panting snort, a spring, and I felt aman's long, nervous fingers clutching my throat. Gasping and choking forbreath, I flung them off, only to find myself held as though in a vice bya pair of long arms. Drawing a deep breath, I braced myself up for thestruggle with my unknown assailant.

  More than once I gave myself up for lost, for my opponent was evidently apowerful man, and seemed bent on strangling me. But, fiercely though hestruggled at first, I soon saw that his strength was only the frenzy ofnervous desperation and that it was fast leaving him. By degrees I beganto gain the upper hand, and at last, with a supreme effort, I threw himon his back and, before he could recover himself, I had my knee upon hischest and drew a long breath of relief.

  I spoke to him, shouted, threatened, commanded; but he took no notice.Then I peered down close into his upturned face and fierce eyes, and thetruth flashed upon me at once. I had been struggling with a madman, ahopeless, raving lunatic, and it was probably he who had made the attackupon us in the carriage.

  My first impulse was one of deep gratitude for my escape; then I began towonder what on earth I was to do with him. He was lying like a log now,perfectly quiet; but I knew that I had only to relax my hold upon him andthe struggle would begin again--perhaps terminate differently. I couldnot take him into the house, for there was no room from which he couldnot easily escape. The only place seemed to me to be the coach-house. Itwas dry and clean, with no windows, save at the top, and with a goodstrong padlock. The coach-house would do, I decided, if only I could gethim there.

  I drew my handkerchief from my pocket, and, knotting it with my teeth,secured his hands as well as I could. Then, seizing him by the collar, Ihalf dragged, half helped him up the garden path till we reached thecoach-house, and, opening the door with one hand, I thrust him in. Hemade no resistance; in fact, he seemed utterly cowed; and a pitiableobject he looked, crouched on the floor, with his face turned to thewall. I struck a match to obtain a better view of him.

  His only attire was a grey flannel shirt and a pair of dark trousers,both of which were torn in places and saturated with rain. Of his face Icould see little, for it was half hidden by the hair, matted with dirtand rain, and by his bushy whiskers and beard, ragged and unkempt. Hisfeet were bare and black with a thick coating of mud; hence his soft,stealthy tread. Altogether, he was a gruesome object, as he lay a huddledheap against the wall, muttering to himself some unintelligible jargon.

  Loosing his hands, I left him there, and, softly entering the house,found some food and rugs and took them out to him. He eyed the formerravenously, and before I could set it down he snatched a piece of breadfrom my hands and began eagerly to devour it. I put the remainder down byhis side and, throwing the rugs over him, stole away.