Antidote to Venom (10 page)

Carrying the writhing snake at the end of the tongs, he crept silently back towards the office. He had been quicker than he expected, the whole operations in the snake-house having taken less than ten minutes. The worst of the affair was now over. He had only to drown the snake and despatch it to Capper and his part of the ghastly job would be done.

Suddenly he received a shock which made his heart miss a beat and brought him up rigid in his tracks.

On the path some fifty yards before him a light was dancing. The watchman was approaching.

The path was edged with herbaceous borders, backed by shrubs. Like a shadow George tiptoed across one of the borders and crouched behind a thick evergreen. He stood in a sweat of fear, scarcely daring to breathe, while the heavy steps came slowly nearer. The snake was hissing angrily and George was panic-stricken lest the man should hear it. However, the steps passed and slowly began to recede, finally dying away in the distance. To George's intense relief that danger was over.

Without further incident he reached his objective, a water barrel at the back of his office. Placing his torch in position, he fastened the clamp to the edge of the barrel, and into its other end he screwed the handle of the tongs, thus fixing the viper's head beneath the water. Snakes were hard to drown and he would have to leave it there for a considerable time.

He was doubtful as to how long. He had assumed it might take an hour, and decided to allow two. In a way it did not very much matter whether or not the creature revived. It could not escape from the box in which he would send it, and he had warned Capper to look out for himself when opening the package.

When at the end of the time he retrieved it, the snake, however, seemed dead. It hung limp and motionless from the tongs. George dried it and carried it to his office. There he packed it in an old tobacco tin, which he knew would pass into a large postal receiver. In the centre of the coils, steadied by cotton wool, he placed the phial of venom. He also made a second parcel of his tongs and clamp.

Now came another dangerous part of the affair. To reach a box with a large enough opening George had to carry his parcel about half a mile towards the City centre, and he mustn't be seen doing it.

In fear and trembling he crossed the gardens, let himself out of the side gate, and hurried noiselessly along the deserted streets. It was by this time after four and some early workers would soon be afoot. However, he was lucky and posted his package unobserved. Once he heard the slow regulation tread of an approaching constable, and made a small detour. When crossing the river he dropped from the bridge his parcel of appliances. As they sank into deep water it seemed to him that with them the last chance of discovery disappeared.

With a feeling of overwhelming relief he got back to the gardens unseen. It took him only a few minutes to reach his house, climb the rope, draw it up after him, and repack it with his clothes in the suitcase. Then closing the windows and drawing the curtains, he slipped silently into bed, well satisfied with the competent way in which he had carried out his part of the scheme.

At the same time, in the background of his mind a feeling of unease gnawed uncomfortably.

Chapter X

Venom: Through Falsehood

George slept brokenly and with disturbed dreams, waking with a feeling of depression which he could not understand. For a moment he lay puzzling over the matter, then memory flooded back and he shivered.

To-day would be a terrible day: yes! It could not be long before the absence of the snake was discovered, and then would come his testing time. Earnestly, almost desperately, he hoped he would be equal to it. He turned his programme over in his mind, realising that to act his part convincingly would be no easy matter.

His most difficult period would probably be that he was now entering on: from the time he went downstairs until he received the report from the snake-house. Throughout this period he must be absolutely normal. The news of the disappearance of the snake would naturally tend to upset him, so that after receiving it he need not be so careful. Then, indeed, he should show a certain anxiety.

Another danger would be the fact that he knew too much. If in an unguarded moment he were to mention something that he should not have known, it might mean the end for both himself and Capper. Suspicion was so terribly easy to arouse. The very slightest hint would be sufficient, and suspicion once aroused, investigation would follow as inevitably as day follows night.

Panic began to mount in George's mind. Then resolutely he pulled himself together. No investigation could possibly bring to light his part in the affair. He had been too careful. Even if suspicion were aroused, there could be no proof of his actions. The one thing he still had to do was to get rid of his knotted rope, and that afternoon he hoped to drive out into the country and throw it into a gulley of the Orlop Hills. If it were ever found, it would be assumed that it had been dropped by a climbing party.

He believed his manner was normal when he met Clarissa at breakfast. Fortunately they were in the habit of reading their papers during the meal, he the
Telegraph
and Clarissa the
Mail
. As soon as he could without appearing to hurry, George propped up the
Telegraph
and buried himself in its columns. Though he forced himself to eat and make his occasional remarks with his usual deliberation, he was inwardly in a ferment. When would the alarm be raised? Nesbit, the keeper at the snake-house, would now have been on duty for some time. At any moment the summons might come.

As a matter of fact, George had finished his bacon and was wondering how on earth he was going to swallow anything more, when he realised that the moment had arrived; there was a ring at the hall door bell. He could follow the entire little drama: Jane's footsteps crossing the hall, the sound of the weatherboard dragging over the step, the murmur of voices (heavens! would they never stop talking), then at last Jane's approaching steps and the opening of the room door; her voice: “Keeper Nesbit would like to see you, sir.”

“Let him wait,” said Clarissa, sharply. “Aren't you going straight over to your office after breakfast?”

“No, no; I'd better see him,” George answered. “It must be something in a hurry or he wouldn't have come here.”

The maid withdrew and George, with a great effort, finished in a leisurely way his toast and coffee. Then still without hurrying, he rose and left the room. Nesbit was standing, cap in hand, in the hall.

“Sorry to trouble you, sir,” he said, urgently, before George could wish him good morning, “but there's a snake missing.”

George stared. “A snake missing?” he repeated. “What do you mean, Nesbit?”

“It's gospel truth, sir,” the man returned. “One of the Russell's vipers. We have four, as you know, and there were four yesterday. There are only three this morning.”

George allowed himself to look impressed. “Good God! A Russell viper! How did it get out? Was the cage open?”

Nesbit shook his head vigorously. “No, sir, everything was closed up just as usual. The house locked up and the cage padlocked, all just as usual.”

George tried to appear sceptical. “But, damn it all, man, that's impossible! You've made some mistake.”

“I'm certain sure it's gone, sir,” the man declared, doggedly. “Come and see for yourself.”

“I'll go this moment. What have you done? Have you taken any steps?”

“I locked the snake-house door, so as it couldn't get out into the grounds. Then I went round to the office, but I couldn't see anyone about. I thought you ought to know at once, so I came on here.”

George became more serious and two minutes later they were walking across the gardens.

“I can't understand this at all,” George said, in puzzled tones, as they paced along. “Tell me, are you sure it didn't escape from the house when you went in?”

“I don't think so, sir. Of course, I wasn't looking for it, but I'm sure I'd have seen it if it had.”

George nodded. Enough had come out to allow him the luxury of looking anxious.

“Look here,” he said suddenly, “we'll have some nets in case the chap's loose in the house. Come round to the office. There's Milliken,” he went on pointing to the figure of the head keeper which suddenly appeared from behind the lion house. “Tell him what's happened and let him get one or two more to give us a hand.”

Nesbit rejoined him at the snake-house door. “Now see that the chap doesn't escape while we're going in,” George went on. He was finding a strange pleasure in playing his part. He tried hard to forget what had taken place and to believe that a Russell viper was really loose in the house. Already he had found that this was the best way of getting his stuff across.

Looking sharply about him, George stepped up to the cage and glanced in through the glass. “You're certainly correct about the number there,” he said presently. “There are only three. Now let's find how the fourth got out.”

The two men passed round from the public window to the service passage behind.

Though George spoke in this way he knew, and he knew that Nesbit knew, that escape was absolutely impossible. The cages were built of reinforced concrete—monoliths, in fact—with embedded in the concrete a double sheet of plate glass to the front or public side. At the back or service passage side there was an opening about six inches above the cage floor, some nine inches by a foot in size. This was closed by a sliding steel door, rigorously kept padlocked. Some distance above the door there was a service inspection window, sealed with glass. The roof consisted of a lid, normally kept shut.

The vipers could raise themselves only a short distance above the floor. Escape for them was possible in two ways only. Had the sliding door been left open or had both sheets of plate glass been broken, they could have got out, but in no other way. They could not possibly have reached up either to the service window or to the lid.

“The door must have been open,” George said, shortly. He tried it. “It's fastened now all right. Did you close it when you came in this morning?”

“I tried it to see that it was fast, and then I opened it and closed it again to see that it was working,” Nesbit answered earnestly. “Everything was exactly as you see it. I'll swear it.”

“I'm not doubting you, Nesbit.” George straightened himself up and spoke gravely. “But if you didn't open it, someone else did.”

The keeper made a gesture of bewilderment. “I know, sir. That's what gets me. I don't understand it at all.”

Knocking came suddenly at the door and Milliken and another keeper, Moon, were admitted. They also carried nets.

“We want to find this blessed snake and get it back in its cage before someone's bitten,” George told them. “It may be somewhere about the house.”

Half an hour later the four men ceased their labours, all looking exasperated and puzzled.

“It's not in the building, sir,” Milliken voiced the general opinion.

“No,” George agreed, “I'm afraid we must admit that. And so the question arises, Where is it?”

“Well, if it's not here,” began Milliken and stopped.

“Yes, Milliken?”

“I was going to say it must have got outside, sir, only it seemed a fool remark.”

“Perhaps,” admitted George, “but pertinent all the same. I'm afraid, Nesbit, the chap must have slipped out when you opened the door. It wouldn't be easy to see.”

“I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir,” Nesbit apologised, “but I hadn't an idea that it might be loose.”

“Of course not,” George returned pleasantly. “You've nothing to reproach yourself with. All the same, the affair opens up some nasty questions. How did it get out of a perfectly constructed and properly fastened cage? Where is it now? What are we to do? I think we may drop the first two questions and concentrate on the third. Has it occurred to you that if this snake is at large in the grounds, the gardens are not safe?”

“I've been thinking that, sir,” said Milliken. “The staff should be warned.”

“Quite. Nesbit and Moon, will you go and do it now. Better tell everyone to come to the office and we'll organise a proper search. Let's see,” George continued, as they trooped out and Nesbit locked the door after them, “it's now nine-thirty and the gates open at ten. We've got to decide whether we hadn't better close down for the day.”

“I was thinking that too, sir.”

George already knew what he was going to do, but he thought it better to advance his ideas gradually, as if they were just then occurring to him. He knew perfectly well that if a dangerous snake really had escaped, the public could not be admitted. He also thought that the public should be told the reason, though this would be a good point on which to consult his chairman, Colonel Kirkman, and thus bring him early into the affair. Accordingly on reaching the office he rang him up.

The colonel was aghast at the news. “But, good heavens, Surridge,” he declared, “this is incomprehensible. If the cage was as you describe, the snake
couldn't
have escaped.”

“I agree with what you're suggesting,” George answered. “But we must leave that for the moment and concentrate on trying to recapture the snake. I'm organising a search of the grounds and I've decided, with your approval, to exclude the public till it's found. Question is, shall we tell the public the reason?”

For a moment there was no reply. Then the colonel said he would come round immediately and they could discuss the point.

Keepers and groundsmen of various kinds began to troop in, and George divided them into squads and apportioned areas of search. One by one they left to begin work, and George turned to Miss Hepworth and told her to type notices for the gates, stating that the Committee much regretted that owing to the unfortunate escape of a snake, the Zoo would, as a precautionary measure, be closed till its recapture was effected.

George was immensely relieved to find that all this activity had removed his sense of panic. By now he almost felt that the snake really had escaped, and he made every effort to carry on as if this were the truth.

Colonel Kirkman, the Chairman of the Corporation Zoo Committee, arrived at five minutes to ten and approved George's notices. These were at once put up and instructions were issued for the gates to be kept shut. Then, with Nesbit and Milliken, George led the Colonel to the snake-house and they again examined the vipers' cage.

Only one conclusion was possible, and as George and the Colonel returned to the office, they no longer avoided the issue.

Kirkman opened the ball by asking George if he didn't agree that someone had deliberately let the snake out.

“I may as well admit,” George answered gravely, “that my preliminary examination convinced me of that. As a matter of fact, that's why I rang you up, and I'm only waiting your approval to call in the police.”

Kirkman looked at him. “You take it as seriously as that?” he asked. “Well, I think you're right. Will you ring up?”

George did so and the Colonel went on: “Sit down and let's discuss this for a moment. Someone has either stolen the snake or let it loose. Why? What possible motive could there be?”

George shook his head. “I don't think there could be any motive,” he declared. “I should say it was the act of a madman.”

“A madman who was able to get into the snake-house: in other words, who had the keys? Who could have had the keys, Surridge?”

George had some slight belief in thought transference, and now he concentrated his mind on Professor Burnaby. At the same time he declared that, so far as he knew, no unauthorised person could have had access to the snakes.

Kirkman did not reply and George again fixed his mind on Burnaby.

This time it actually worked. Kirkman leant forward and spoke more confidentially. “What about the old professor?” he asked, meaningly. “He had keys, hadn't he?”

“Yes,” said George, “but he gave them up when his permission was rescinded. He retained only a key of the door to Calshort Road.”

The Colonel lowered his voice still further. “He could have had them copied before returning them?” he suggested.

George shook his head. “Physically possible, perhaps,” he admitted, “but I can't see the old man doing it. He was a man with a code, and I'm perfectly convinced it wouldn't have allowed him to steal keys.”

“That's my own idea,” Kirkman agreed, then after a pause: “What about Nesbit? Suppose it were made worth his while? Do you know anything about the man?”

“Nothing except from his work. But I haven't the slightest reason to suspect him; in fact, quite the contrary. I believe him to be an honest man who wouldn't do such a thing.”

“Every man has his price,” remarked the Colonel darkly.

“Oh, quite,” George agreed. “Even you or I could be suspected. But not on the probabilities, and neither could Nesbit.”

“Any other possibles?”