m side to side； marked their progress。 Occasionally there was a querulous whimper of hinges； but many of the iron plaques were already askew from age； didn't need to be moved at all。 One or two were gone entirely。 Behind them in every case； were mortar and packedearth cubicles； most of them little bigger than the delayed…action coffins they had eventually proved to be for their inmates。
The endless succession of niches holding these vents unexpectedly right…angled； cut across to meet Belmonte's side。 Meaning this catab had ended here。 In its lateral face there was but a single iron door。 Manning reached it first； having outdistanced his panion in the forward search。 The cartwheel of his light lapped over it momentarily； then quickly dissolved again。
He shot it briefly downward at the floor； in a signal to Belmonte。 The latter came up beside him in the dark。 Manning's voice was less than a whisper。 It had to be guessed at。 〃Don't make any noise。 Put your hand to this one。〃
〃Warm。〃
〃Warmer than the rest； anyway； they're all stone…cold。 Something going on behind it…〃
He started feeling along it tenderly with splayed fingers for the old…fashioned staple grip his light had shown him before。 Before he could plete the gesture； Belmonte had elbowed him aside； his own hand was on it instead。 There was a dangerous sort of quietness about the South American all at once； as though he'd been waiting a long time for this approaching moment。
The thing swung out past them on its appointed arc； and a flash of unreality； of fantasy； exploded into view。
It was that their minds； conditioned to the realistic； couldn't assimilate what their eyes were trying to show them。 This must have been the torture chamber of this whole cruel place of correction and exorcism。 Against the wall were strange outlines that the modern mind had no names for： things well forgotten； left behind； as the race progressed away from its childish delight in pulling wings off flies。 Chains hanging like fungi； and iron girdles riveted into the wall； and a thing like a hand printing press； to cripple the straight bones nature had formed。
They seemed to have been carried back four hundred years。 Beyond that； even； into the nevernever land of demonology and medieval allegory。 The place was in use again。
Again； as in the long ago； the lurid red of fire glowed within the stone kiln at the end of the enclosure； with its open flue above； once used for turning iron bars red…hot or melting dipperfuls of lead。 And again； as in the long ago； the subject lay senseless atop the thick； curved…top block； somewhat similar to a butcher's chopping block。 A subject； this time； in a twentieth…century beaded evening gown； or the tatters that were left of it。 Legs dangling down over the end of it； one silver slipper fallen off and lying on the floor。 Her head fell back the other way； neck arched； hair streaming free and seeming to move in the moving firelight。
Between her and it was poised a grotesque silhouette。 Something that belonged on a feudal coat of arms。 An upright animal。 The lion； or leopard； rampant。 The outline of the cat head could be seen； two small triangular ears thrusting up。
The two feline claws were poised over her in striking position； about to descend； to stroke； softly； gently at first； just tearing the remnants of clothing； just scratching the smooth white skin below。 Then faster； faster； deeper； deeper； as the frenzy mounted…and the life…tide welled forth。
Manning could feel his senses trying to darken out； in some form of vertigo or dizziness； because this thing wasn't there； wasn't real； so that when his faculties cleared again it would be gone。 Just the empty unlit chamber would be there； the way it probably was。 He also wanted to get sick for a minute； because animals don't stand upright； and men…who do…don't have short pointed ears and spade…shaped feline heads； as this apparition did。
A voice screamed something unintelligible； but not from over there； from somewhere close beside him。 A revolver shot cracked； and he thought it was the cleanest； loveliest sound he'd ever heard。 The thing； whatever it was； reared up even higher than before； claws threshing the air； then started to go over backwards。
The revolver exploded a second time。 The thing in the background went down faster； rolled over with an air of finality； lay there inert； jaguar； or man； or jaguar…man。
Manning could feel himself stumbling forward； he lurched to his knees beside the trestle； picked her limp form up in his arms； held her protectively clasped to him； but more in a state of bewilderment than active helpfulness。 Presently he became aware of a heart beating somewhere close to his own； and he knew she wasn't dead。
The revolver kept crashing out； meanwhile； and a sort of chant of vengeance acpanied it。 〃That's for Conchita。〃 Bam。 〃And that's for Conchita。〃 Bam。 〃And that's for all the others。〃 Bam。 〃But this； this one is for Conchita all over again！〃
Brief flashes kept flickering over Belmonte's face； lighting it momentarily from below each time。
〃Belmonte； quit；〃 Manning remonstrated at last。 〃Pull yourself together。 The thing's dead ten times over。〃
But the revolver kept on clicking emptily； over and over again。
After a while； he took the empty gun away from Belmonte； and said； 〃Take care of the girl。〃 Belmonte took the girl from him and carried her out of the place。 Manning went over closer to the huddled form lying on the ground； and stood looking down at it。 It had fallen face downward。 He turned it over with his foot。 He bent down for a moment； just once； then straightened up again。
When Belmonte came back presently； Manning was standing beside the kiln； thrusting a small deep…curved shovel down into it。 Before Belmonte knew what he was about； he had tipped it up again； overturned it。 A freshet of live coals spilled down over the exposed face on the floor； forming a glowing puddle； blanketing it。 They only darkened momentarily； then almost immediately they had brightened again as fiercely as ever。 Dank steam struggled up between the livid nuggets； like thin snakes。
Manning threw down the shovel and they both came away fast。
They sat sipping small stinging brandies in the morning sunlight； at a little cafй on the Alameda。 A shoeshine boy was crouched at Belmonte's feet。 All around them life was going on as usual。 It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago； not a stone's throw from here…
〃If you hadn't lost your head the way you did…〃 Manning began。
Belmonte tossed the bootblack a coin to get rid of him。 〃I lost my head？〃 he smiled。 〃On the contrary； I kept my head very well。 There is no capital punishment down here。 The most they could have given him； by statute； is twenty years to life。〃 He shrugged。 〃Do you see what I mean？〃
〃I see what you mean；〃 Manning assented。
〃One thing I don't understand；〃 Belmonte mused。 〃How did it get into the chapel in the first place？ The entrance was locked tight； the police had to take crowbars to it themselves when they were looking for it that first night； you remember？〃
〃The chapel is roofless； just four walls and open sky。 My conjecture is it ran into the doorway of the house immediately adjoining； came out on the roof； or some projecting ledge； of that； and seeing its escape cut off； jumped from there down into the opening offered by the ruined chapel； unseen by anyone against the surrounding blackness。 A leap from such a height wouldn't be prohibitive for an animal of its type； particularly spurred on by fear。
〃He got hold of it in some way； anyway； we know that much。 Your revolver； last night； deprived us of ever finding out the exact details。 Probably stunned it with a big rock and dragged it back through that tunnel； that he'd already been using for some time past。〃
He waited until the waiter had put down their new jiggers； gone away again。 〃He was ripe for murder； anyway。 The tinder was there； waiting。 The jaguar was the spark。 The spark came along and bang！ all over the place。 Every large city has dozens of his kind。 Fortunately； most of them never blow a fuse。 One in a hundred gets started off；