CHAPTER XI
THE MARK ON THE WINDOWThe Thing was twittering at her, soft, bird-like noises, and she saw the flash of its white teeth in the darkness. It was not pulling, it was simply holding, one hand gripping the tendrils of the ivy up which it had climbed, the other hand firmly about her wrist. Again it twittered and pulled. She drew back, but she might as well have tried to draw back from a moving piston rod. A great, hairy leg was suddenly flung over the sill; the second hand came up and covered her face.
The sound of her scream was deadened in the hairy paw, but somebody heard it. From the ground below came a flash of fire and the deafening ‘tang!’ of a pistol exploding. A bullet zipped and crashed amongst the ivy, striking the brickwork, and she heard the whirr of the ricochet. Inst
