Free Wyndham, John by The Day Of The Triffids (v2) [htm] Page B

incredulously. Why aren’t you
    “I don’t know. I ought to be,” I said.
    I looked down at the fallen triffid. Suddenly remembering
the knives that we’d acquired with quite other enemies in mind, I used mine to
cut off the sting at its base. I examined it. “That explains it,” I said,
pointing to the poison sacs.

    “See, they’re collapsed, exhausted. If they’d been full, or
even part full I turned a thumb down.
    I had that, and my acquired resistance to the poison, to
thank. Nevertheless, there were pale red marks across the backs of my hands and
my neck that were itching like the devil. I rubbed them while I stood looking
at the sting.
    “It’s queer,” I murmured, more to myself than to her, but
she heard me.
    “What’s queer?”
    “I’ve never seen one with the poison sacs quite empty like
this before. It must have been doing a hell of a lot of stinging.”
    But I doubt if she heard me. Her attention had reverted to
the man who was lying in the drive, and she was eying the triffid standing by.
    “How can we get him away?” she asked.
    “I’m afraid we can’t—not till that thing’s been dealt with,”
I told her. ‘Besides—well, I don’t think we can help him now.
    “You mean he’s dead?”
    I nodded. “Yes. There’s not a doubt of it—Eve seen others
who have been stung. Who was he” I added.
    “Old Pearson. He did gardening for us, and chauffeuring for
my father. Such a dear old man—I’ve know him all my life.”
    “I’m sorry—” I began, wishing I could think of something
more adequate, but she cut me short.
    “Look! Oh, look!” She pointed to a path which ran round the
side of the house. A black-stockinged leg with a woman’s shoe on it protruded
beyond the corner.
    We prospected carefully and then moved safely to a spot
which gave a better view. A girl in a black dress lay half on the path and half
in a flower bed. Her pretty. fresh face was scarred with a bright red line.
Josella choked. Tears came into her eyes.
    “Oh! Oh, it’s Annie! Poor little Annie,” she said.
    I tried to console her a little.
    “They can scarcely have known it, either of them,” I
told her. “When it is strong enough to kill, it’s mercifully quick.”
    We did nor see any other triffid in hiding there. Possibly
the same one had attacked them both. Together we crossed the path and got into
the house by the side door. Josella called. There was no answer. She called
again. We both listened in the complete silence that wrapped the house. She
turned to look at me. Neither of us said anything. Quietly she led the way
along a passage to a baize-covered door. As she opened it there was a swish,
and something slapped across the door and frame, an inch or so above her head.
Hurriedly she pulled the door shut again and turned wide-eyed to me.
    “There’s one in the ball,” she said.
    She spoke in a frightened half whisper, as though it might
be listening.
    We went back to the outer door, and into the garden once
more. Keeping to the grass for silence, we made our way round the house until
we could look into the lounge hail. The French window which led from the garden
was open, and the glass of one side was shattered. A trail of muddy blobs led
over the step and across the carpet. At the end of it a triffid stood in the
middle of the room. The top of its stem almost bushed the ceiling, and it was
swaying ever so slightly. Close beside its damp, shaggy bole lay the body of an
elderly man clad in a bright silk dressing gown. I took hold of Josella’s arm, afraid
she might rush in there.
    “Is it—your father?” I asked, though I knew it must be.
“Yes,” she said, and put her hands over her face. She was trembling a little.
    I stood still, keeping an eye on the triffid inside lest it
should move our way. Then I thought of a handkerchief and handed her mine.
There wasn’t much anyone could do. After a little while she took more control
of herself. Remembering the people we had seen that day, I said:
    “You know, I think I would rather that had happened
to