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.