CHAPTER XX
A NARROW ESCAPEMichael Brixan braced himself for the supreme and futile struggle. And then, to his amazement, the ape stopped, and his bird noise became a harsh chatter. Raising himself erect, he beat quickly on his great hairy chest, and the sound of the hollow drumming was awful.
Yet through that sound and above it, Michael heard a curious hiss—it was the faint note of escaping steam, and he looked round. On the top of the wall squatted a man, and Michael knew him at once. It was the brown-faced stranger he had seen that day in Chichester.
The drumming and the hissing grew louder and then Michael saw a bright, curved thing in the brown man’s hand. It was a sword, the replica of that which hung above Sir Gregory’s fireplace.
He was still wondering when the brown man dropped
