Абрахам Меррит - Seven Footprints To Satan

"Stop him! Stop him!"

A figure flashed by the door. A woman running. Close after her darted another, a man. I caught the glint of steel in his hand.

The watch marked 2:15. I walked over to the cabinet of the necklace, my right hand clutching the opening tool.

The turmoil in the corridor was growing louder. Again the woman screamed. The people in the room were rushing toward the door. The guard from the far entrance ran past me.

I stood before the cabinet. I thrust the razor edge of the little chisel between the flange of the top and the side. I turned the screw. There was a click, and the lock had snapped.

The screaming ended in a dreadful gasping wail. There was another rush of feet by the door. I heard an oath and the fall of a heavy body.

I withdrew my hand from the cabinet, the necklace in it. I dropped it into my pocket, running its upper strand over the line of tiny hooks.

I walked to the entrance through which I had come. One of the guards was lying upon the threshold. The German was bending over him. The girl I had taken for an artist was crouched beside him, hands over her eyes, crying hysterically. From the armor room across the corridor came an agonized shrieking- a man's voice this time.

I went on, between the two black sarcophagi at the entrance to the wing, out into the great hall where the Gobelin tapestries hang, and passed through the turnstile. The guard had his back turned, listening to the sounds which, both because of distance and the arrangement of rooms and corridors, were here barely audible.

I took my coat from the attendant, who, it was clear, had heard nothing.

Walking to the entrance, I stepped to the right as Satan had bade and, leaning over, fumbled with a shoe lace. Some one brushed past me, into the museum.

Straightening, I proceeded to the steps. Down on the sidewalk two men were fighting. A group had gathered around them, I saw a policeman running up. Those upon the steps beside myself were absorbed in watching the combatants.

I passed down. A dozen yards to my left was a blue limousine, the chauffeur paying no attention to the fighters, but polishing with a piece of chamois the right headlight of his car.

Strolling to it, I saw the chauffeur jump from his polishing, throw open the door and stand at attention beside it, his alert gaze upon me.

Satan's watch registered 2:19.

I stepped into the car. The curtains were drawn and it was dark. The door closed behind me and it was darker still.

The car started. Some one moved. Some one spoke softly, tremulously eager.

"Are you all right, Mr. Kirkham?"

Eve's voice!

I struck a match. Eve turned her head quickly away, but not before I had seen the tears in her eyes and how pale was her face.

"I'm quite all right, thank you," I said. "And everything, so far as I know, has gone exactly according to Satan's schedule. I know that I have. The necklace is in my pocket."

"I w-wasn't worrying about th-that," said Eve in a shaky little voice.

Her nerve was badly shattered, there was no mistaking that. Not for a moment did I think that any anxiety about me was the cause of it. That she had thoroughly understood Satan's sinister implications the night before was certain. Probably she had had forebodings. But now she knew.

Nevertheless, for one reason or another, she had felt anxiety for me. I moved closer.

"Satan made it perfectly clear to me that my continued health and getting the necklace were closely tied up together," I told her. "I am obeying his instructions to the letter, naturally. My next move is to give the necklace to you."

I slipped it off the hooks in my pocket.

"How do you turn on the lights?" I asked her. "I want you to be sure that what I give you is what our Master is expecting to get."

"D-don't turn them on," whispered Eve. "Give me the d-damned thing!"

I laughed. Sorry for her as I was, I couldn't help it. Her hands crept out and touched me. I caught them in mine and she did not withdraw them. And after a time she drew closer, pressing against me like a frightened child. She was crying, I knew, but I said nothing, only slipped an arm around her and let her cry. Yes, very much like a little frightened child was Eve, weeping there in the darkness and clutching my hands so tightly. And in my heart I cursed Satan in seven tongues, a cold, implacable hatred growing within me.

At last she gave a little laugh and moved away.

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkham," she said tranquilly. "You make always a most dependable audience."

"Miss Demerest," I told her bluntly, "I'm done with fencing. You're panic- stricken. You know why- and so do I."

"Why should I be frightened?" she asked.

"At the destiny Satan promised you," I answered. "You know what it is. If you have any doubts at all about it, let me tell you that he left me with none after you had gone from the room last night."

There was a silence, and then out of the darkness came her voice, small and despairing.

"He means to- take me! He will- take me! No matter what I do! I'd kill myself- but I can't! I can't! Oh, God, what can I do? Oh, God, who can help me!"

"I can make a damned good try at it," I told her, "if you'll only let me."

She did not answer immediately, sitting silently, fighting for self- control. Suddenly she snapped on the light and leaned toward me, tear-washed eyes searching mine, and voice firm as though she had come to some momentous decision.

"Tell me, Mr. Kirkham, what made you stop after the second footprint? You wanted to go on. Satan was urging you on. Why did you stop?"

"Because," I said, "I heard your voice telling me to go no farther."

She drew a sharp breath that was like a sob.

"Is that the truth, Mr. Kirkham?"

"It is God's own truth. It was as though you stood beside me, touching my shoulder and whispered to me to stop where I was. To climb no higher. Those devilish jewels on the crown and scepter were calling me out of a thousand mouths. But when I heard you- or thought I did- I heard them no longer."

"Oh!" Eve's eyes were rapt, her cheeks no longer pale, her exclamation a song.

"You did call!" I whispered.

"I watched you from back there beyond the light, with the- others," she said. "And when the second foot shone out on Satan's side I tried with all my strength of will to send my thought out to you, tried so desperately to warn you. Over and over I prayed as you stood there hesitating- 'Oh, kind God, wherever you are, let him hear me! Please let him hear me, dear God!' and you did hear- "

She stopped and stared at me with widening eyes and swiftly the color deepened in her cheeks.

"And you knew it was my voice!" whispered Eve. "But you would not have heard, or, hearing, would not have heeded, unless- unless- "

"Unless?" I prompted.

"Unless there were something outside our two selves ready to help us," said Eve, a bit breathlessly.

She was blushing now up to her eyes; and I was quite sure that the reason she had given was not exactly that which caused the blush, not the one that had been on the tip of her tongue a moment before.

My own theory of what had happened was more materialistic. Something within me had sensitized my mind, not something without. I've never run across any particularly convincing evidence of disembodied energies acting as spiritual springs to soften the bumps in a bad piece of road on this earthly tour of ours. I much preferred a good tangible Providence like the little cockney burglar with his knowledge of Satan's trick walls. However, such things may be; and if it gave Eve any comfort to believe it, then let her. So I nodded solemnly and assured her it must be true.

"But," I asked, "is there no one among all Satan's people with whom you have come in contact who might be persuaded to work against him?"