She hummed a tune to herself, rattling a pair of castanets slightly now and then.At the mention of the archbishop she chuckled impiously and turned her head to look at Byrne, so that the red glow of the fire flashed in her black eyes and on her white teeth under the dark cowl of the enormous overmantel.And he smiled at her.
He rested now in the ease of security.His advent not having been expected there could be no plot against him in existence.
Drowsiness stole upon his senses.He enjoyed it, but keeping a hold, so he thought at least, on his wits; but he must have been gone further than he thought because he was startled beyond measure by a fiendish uproar.He had never heard anything so pitilessly strident in his life.The witches had started a fierce quarrel about something or other.Whatever its origin they were now only abusing each other violently, without arguments; their senile screams expressed nothing but wicked anger and ferocious dismay.
The gipsy girl's black eyes flew from one to the other.Never before had Byrne felt himself so removed from fellowship with human beings.Before he had really time to understand the subject of the quarrel, the girl jumped up rattling her castanets loudly.Asilence fell.She came up to the table and bending over, her eyes in his -"Senor," she said with decision, "You shall sleep in the archbishop's room."Neither of the witches objected.The dried-up one bent double was propped on a stick.The puffy faced one had now a crutch.
Byrne got up, walked to the door, and turning the key in the enormous lock put it coolly in his pocket.This was clearly the only entrance, and he did not mean to be taken unawares by whatever danger there might have been lurking outside.
When he turned from the door he saw the two witches "affiliated to the Devil" and the Satanic girl looking at him in silence.He wondered if Tom Corbin took the same precaution last might.And thinking of him he had again that queer impression of his nearness.
The world was perfectly dumb.And in this stillness he heard the blood beating in his ears with a confused rushing noise, in which there seemed to be a voice uttering the words: "Mr.Byrne, look out, sir." Tom's voice.He shuddered; for the delusions of the senses of hearing are the most vivid of all, and from their nature have a compelling character.
It seemed impossible that Tom should not be there.Again a slight chill as of stealthy draught penetrated through his very clothes and passed over all his body.He shook off the impression with an effort.
It was the girl who preceded him upstairs carrying an iron lamp from the naked flame of which ascended a thin thread of smoke.Her soiled white stockings were full of holes.
With the same quiet resolution with which he had locked the door below, Byrne threw open one after another the doors in the corridor.All the rooms were empty except for some nondescript lumber in one or two.And the girl seeing what he would be at stopped every time, raising the smoky light in each doorway patiently.Meantime she observed him with sustained attention.
The last door of all she threw open herself.
"You sleep here, senor," she murmured in a voice light like a child's breath, offering him the lamp.
"BUENOS NOCHES, SENORITA," he said politely, taking it from her.
She didn't return the wish audibly, though her lips did move a little, while her gaze black like a starless night never for a moment wavered before him.He stepped in, and as he turned to close the door she was still there motionless and disturbing, with her voluptuous mouth and slanting eyes, with the expression of expectant sensual ferocity of a baffled cat.He hesitated for a moment, and in the dumb house he heard again the blood pulsating ponderously in his ears, while once more the illusion of Tom's voice speaking earnestly somewhere near by was specially terrifying, because this time he could not make out the words.
He slammed the door in the girl's face at last, leaving her in the dark; and he opened it again almost on the instant.Nobody.She had vanished without the slightest sound.He closed the door quickly and bolted it with two heavy bolts.
A profound mistrust possessed him suddenly.Why did the witches quarrel about letting him sleep here? And what meant that stare of the girl as if she wanted to impress his features for ever in her mind? His own nervousness alarmed him.He seemed to himself to be removed very far from mankind.
He examined his room.It was not very high, just high enough to take the bed which stood under an enormous baldaquin-like canopy from which fell heavy curtains at foot and head; a bed certainly worthy of an archbishop.There was a heavy table carved all round the edges, some arm-chairs of enormous weight like the spoils of a grandee's palace; a tall shallow wardrobe placed against the wall and with double doors.He tried them.Locked.A suspicion came into his mind, and he snatched the lamp to make a closer examination.No, it was not a disguised entrance.That heavy, tall piece of furniture stood clear of the wall by quite an inch.
He glanced at the bolts of his room door.No! No one could get at him treacherously while he slept.But would he be able to sleep?
