Flint was now leaning forward on his elbows and laughing foolishly, stupidly. It was a queer laugh, and struck terror into Brent as he himself coughed and clutched involuntarily at his throat. Brent stared at Flint.
"What is it?" he repeated, anxiously. "Have you suddenly gone mad, man?"
But there was no reply. Instead, Flint laughed all the more madly.
Brent was more than startled. If he could have seen himself in a glass he would have seen that he was already wide-mouthed and disheveled. Suddenly the smoke again blew in his face. He coughed again. His head reeled.
He shielded himself from the candles. But it was too late.
"My God!" he exclaimed, starting up. "The Madagascar madness!"
Brent looked about wildly. He rushed to Flint and shook him. But Flint only laughed. He turned and moved toward the candles, reaching out for them. But even as he did so his hand faltered.
He stopped and passed his hand across his tightening forehead. Slowly over his face came a stupid expression. He felt himself going, without power of retraining himself. His lips twitched and he swayed.
Flint rose and clapped him on the shoulder. Then both laughed foolishly, loudly.
They were beyond help. It was the laughing madness.
Outside, in the hall, Eva and Locke had been standing, talking for a moment, when suddenly, below, they heard a terrific noise in the cellar. Involuntarily Eva's hand clutched Locke's arm. Locke drew a revolver and, in spite of Eva's fearsome caution, hastened down the cellar stairs.
About in the blackness of the cellar he groped until his foot touched something soft, a mass on the floor. He bent over. It was the butler, in a heap, unconscious, but still breathing.
There was not a sound, not another being in the cellar.
Together Eva and Locke helped the now half-conscious man to his feet and pushed and pulled him up the stairs; as slowly he recovered his power of speech.
"I--I went down to fix the fuses--as the master ordered," muttered the butler, incoherently. "A huge figure--steel hand--it flung me across the floor--the last I remember."
He passed his hand over his head as though recollection even was too horrible for description.
Locke listened a bit doubtfully, then sent the butler on his way to bed, while Eva could scarcely restrain her fears.