The Spider by Fergus Hume — Read

In half an hour, more or less, Vernon came to himself slowly, and opened his eyes in a bewildered manner. He was in complete darkness, and for the moment could not remember where he was or what had taken place. Gradually memory returned to him and he sat up painfully to recall details. His head throbbed with the violence of the fall, and the short, sharp struggle had set his nerves jangling like ill-tuned bells. Rising to his feet with an effort he wondered why the Indian had not finished him off, then recollected the rapid words of Maunders in an unknown tongue. Probably he had been speaking Tamil and had ordered the man not to go to extremities. As in the case of Colonel Towton, when the creature had been warned by Diabella, or, rather, by Maunders, as in this instance, the native had stopped short of actual murder. In Maunders' desperate enterprise it was necessary that he should remain on the right side of the law.

Striking a match, Vernon ascertained that he was still in the tent, for its blue glimmer showed the figures and hieroglyphics weirdly flickering on the canvas walls. Apparently the criminals, for they were nothing else, had fled, leaving him insensible, and Vernon wondered that he had not been discovered. But when he walked outside he saw on the door a notice stating that the booth was closed for an hour, and guessed that in this way Maunders had provided time for flight. So warned, no one would enter the tent, and evidently both the noise of the struggle and his cry for assistance had passed unheeded. Vernon drew a long breath and stood where he was, watching the crowd of people merry-making under hundreds of coloured lamps, quite oblivious to the fact that a tragedy had nearly taken place under their very noses. He wondered what was best to be done.