"That makes the third year I have waited," she cried. "This is an
anniversary. The waiting almost makes one wish the frightful thing
would happen once and for all."
And even as she spoke, a sudden rending cry broke the stillness.
From low down on the pavement of the dim street (it was already
twilight) a voice cried out with a raucous and merciless
distinctness:
"Major Brown, Major Brown, where does the jackal dwell?"
Brown was decisive and silent in action. He strode to the front
door and looked out. There was no sign of life in the blue gloaming
of the street, where one or two lamps were beginning to light their
lemon sparks. On returning, he found the lady in green trembling.
"It is the end," she cried, with shaking lips; "it may be death for
both of us. Whenever--"
But even as she spoke her speech was cloven by another hoarse
proclamation from the dark street, again horribly articulate.
"Major Brown, Major Brown, how did the jackal die?"
Brown dashed out of the door and down the steps, but again he was
frustrated; there was no figure in sight, and the street was far
too long and empty for the shouter to have run away. Even the
rational Major was a little shaken as he returned in a certain time
to the drawing-room. Scarcely had he done so than the terrific
voice came:
"Major Brown, Major Brown, where did--"
Brown was in the street almost at a bound, and he was in time--in
time to see something which at first glance froze the blood.
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