The Place of the Lion Read Free

by him, still glancing quickly round, bent over the body, peered at it, caught it, and rising tried to move it. But in a moment he desisted and ran back to his friend.
    â€œI can’t move him,” he panted. “Will the door open? No. But there must be a back way. We must get him inside; you’ll have to give me a hand. But I’d better find the way in first. I can’t make it out; there’s no wound and no bruise so far as I can see: it’s the most extraordinary thing. You watch here; but don’t go doing anything except shout—if you can. I won’t be a second.”
    He slipped away before Quentin could answer—but nothing, no shout, no roar, no snarl, no human or bestial footfall, broke the silence until he returned. “I’ve found the door,” he began; but Quentin interrupted: “Did you see anything?”
    â€œDamn all,” said Anthony. “Not a sight or a sound. No shining eyes, no—— Quentin, did you see a lion?”
    â€œYes,” Quentin said nervously.
    â€œSo did I,” Anthony agreed. “And did you see where the lioness went to?”
    â€œNo,” Quentin said, still shooting glances over the garden.
    â€œAre there two escaped animals then?” Anthony asked. “Well, anyhow, the thing is to get this fellow into the house. I’ll take his head and you his—— O my God, what’s that?”
    His cry, however, was answered reassuringly. For the sound that had startled him was this time only the call of a human voice not far off, and it was answered by another still nearer. It seemed the searchers for the lioness were drawing closer. Lights, many lights, were moving across the field opposite; calls were heard on the road. Anthony turned hastily to Quentin, but before he could speak, a man had stopped at the gate and exclaimed. Anthony ran down the garden, and met him as, others gathering behind him, he came through the gate.
    â€œHallo, what’s up here?” he said. “What—— O is it you, sir?”
    He was the man with whom the friends had talked before. He went straight to the prostrate man, bent over him, felt his heart and touched him here and there; then he looked up in perplexity.
    â€œFainted, has he?” he said. “I thought it might—just possibly—have been this damned beast. But it can’t have been; he’d have been mauled if it had touched him—and I don’t suppose it would. Do you know what happened?”
    â€œNot very well,” Anthony said. “We did see the lioness, as it happened, in the road—and we more or less sprinted up here—and then this man, whoever he is——”
    â€œO I know who he is,” the other said. “He lives here; his name’s Berringer. D’you suppose he saw the creature? But we’d better move him, hadn’t we? Get him inside, I mean?”
    â€œWe were just going to,” Anthony said. “This door’s shut, but I’ve got the back one open.”
    â€œRight ho!” the other answered. “I’d better slip in and warn his housekeeper, if she’s about. One or two of us will give you gentlemen a hand.” He waved to the small group by the gate, and they came in, to have explained what was needed. Then their leader went quickly round the house while Anthony, Quentin, and the rest began to lift the unconscious Mr. Berringer.
    It was more difficult to do so than they had expected. To begin with, they seemed unable to get the proper purchase. His body was not so much heavy as immovable—and yet not rigid. It yielded to them gently, but however they tried to slip their arms underneath they could not at first manage to lift it. Quentin and Anthony had a similar difficulty with the legs; and indeed Anthony was so startled at the resistance where he had expected a light passivity that he almost fell forward. At last, however, their combined efforts did