Chapter XVII
THE BLUE FLAME
Although he shivered with cold Miller felt the perspiration spring out on his forehead. He struck the match and held it to the candles. The arabesques appeared to twist and twine more violently. The odour from the paper seemed more pungent in spite of the open window. The dripping ceased. He glanced at the floor near the head of the bed, but he saw nothing. It was several minutes before he realised it was Molly who had screamed.
He threw on his clothes, picked up a candle, snatched his revolver from beneath the pillow, and stepped to the hall.
Molly’s cry had not been repeated, but something was moving at the foot of the stairs, and he could hear thick breathing. He paused before the door, open a little as Molly had promised. He was afraid to knock, afrai
