It was curious how these hands seemed to be
endowed with a volition of their own, independent of the
arms upon which they swung.
And now I could see only the hands, shuttling so smoothly,
so rhythmically back and forth--weaving so sleepily,
so sleepily back and forth--black hands that dripped sleep
--hypnotic.
Hypnotic! I sprang from the lethargy closing upon me.
In one quick side glance I saw Drake's head nodding--
nodding in time to the movement of the black hands. I
jumped to my feet, shaking with an intensity of rage
unfamiliar to me; thrust my pistol into the wrinkled face.
"Damn you!" I cried. "Stop that. Stop it and turn your
back."
The corded muscles of the arms contracted, the claws
of the slithering paws drew in as though he were about to
clutch me; the ebon pools of eyes were covered with a
frozen film of hate.
He could not have known what was this tube with
which I menaced him, but its threat he certainly sensed
and was afraid to meet. He squattered about, wrapped his
arms around his knees, crouched with back toward us.
"What's the matter?" asked Drake drowsily.
"He tried to hypnotize us," I answered shortly. "And
pretty nearly did."
"So that's what it was." He was now wide awake. "I
watched those hands of his and got sleepier and sleepier
--I guess we'd better tie Mr.
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