Leroux. Now that he was no longer panic-ridden, he
could mentally reconstruct that scene of horror, could hear again,
imaginatively, the shrieks of the maltreated woman. Perhaps this same
active imagination of his was playing him tricks, but, her voice...
Always he preferred to dismiss these ideas.
He feared Ho-Pin in the same way that an average man fears a tarantula,
and he was only too happy to avoid the ever smiling Chinaman; so that
the days passed on, and, finding himself unmolested and the affairs of
the catacombs proceeding apparently as usual, he kept his information to
himself, uncertain if he shared it with his employers or otherwise, but
hesitating to put the matter to the test--always fearful to approach
Ho-Pin, the beetlesque.
But this could not continue indefinitely; at least he must speak
to Ho-Pin in order to obtain leave of absence. For, since that
unforgettable night, he had lived the life of a cave-man indeed, and
now began to pine for the wider vault of heaven. Meeting the impassive
Chinaman in the corridor one morning, on his way to valet one of the
living dead, Soames ventured to stop him.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, confusedly, "but would there be any objection
to my going out on Friday evening for an hour?"
"Not at all, Soames," replied Ho-Pin, with his mirthless smile: "you may
go at six, wreturn at ten.
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