Antidote to Venom

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  George continued working, though with indifferent success. Miss Hepworth must not be allowed to suspect. He felt that to hoodwink Miss Hepworth was going to be one of his greatest difficulties. She was extraordinarily efficient, and her very excellences were now his danger.

  Presently Taylor was announced, the keys dangling from his finger.

  “Found ’em in the door, sir; the side door.”

  George looked suitably shocked. “Good lord!” he exclaimed. “I must be getting senile decay. Were they in the lock?”

  “Hanging in the lock, sir, outside.”

  George shook his head. “Goodness only knows how I did that! Well, fortunately, no harm seems to have been done. Thank you, Taylor; I’m glad you got them.”

  Though George at times was consumed with fear lest Capper’s plans should prove faulty, he was pleased with the way he had carried out this first step. Nothing he had so far done could possibly be used against him. He had his story ready to explain how he came to overlook the key: Capper had sketched its outlines and it was reasonably convincing. If he did as well with his next step he would certainly be all right.

  This next step involved the stealing and drowning of the snake, the collecting of the venom, and the sending of both to Capper. It was really also the last, because all these matters must be dealt with at the same time.

  For some incomprehensible reason Capper had insisted that this must be done on a Tuesday night. Moreover, it could only be on the night of a day on which Burnaby had been in the snake-house late in the afternoon. It was therefore necessary for George to keep an eye on the snake-house on each Tuesday afternoon, the understanding being that he should act on the first one on which Burnaby was there.

  This was Thursday, so that he had five days before the great effort became possible. Meanwhile, certain preparatory matters must be seen to, and on the following Saturday he took advantage of a visit to London to deal with them.

  His business was at the London Zoo, and when it was completed he went down to the East End and bought a pair of black sand shoes, rubber gloves and other small items, as well as thirty feet of light rope, to the end of which he got the shopman to attach a small hook. The rope he knotted at intervals of about a foot, and when he had finished he had a light and portable ladder which would easily reach from his bedroom window to the ground. The staircase creaked so much that he dare not use it. He took the rope upstairs in a suitcase, leaving the case locked in his room.

  On the Tuesday afternoon he saw that business took him, not to the snake-house, but to areas from which he could see it. To his mixed relief and disappointment Burnaby did not put in an appearance, which gave him a week’s respite, as well as an extra week’s suspense.

  The next Tuesday he was again on the look-out, and this time he saw Burnaby going to the snake-house. He busied himself in the neighbourhood, and about a quarter of an hour before closing time saw Burnaby leave, as usual by the side door.

  To-night, then, was to be the night of his great effort, perhaps the most momentous in George’s life. After to-night there would be no drawing back: he would be irrevocably committed.

  He did not, as a matter of fact, wish to draw back. Familiarity with Capper’s plan had largely removed its horror, while the fear of financial ruin had grown more insistent.

  That evening George’s dominating aim was to be natural. He must do the things he was accustomed to do, he must speak as he usually spoke, he must not betray the anxiety which was consuming him; he must not, in short, do anything which would enable Clarissa or Miss Hepworth or any other person to say afterwards: “Well, he was in an excited condition that night.”

  When at long last he was able to go to bed, he believed he had succeeded. Conversation at dinner had been normal. After the meal he had read the evening paper for his usual time in the sitting-room, then going, as he so often did, to his study. Later he returned to the sitting-room for a drink, making a few quite ordinary remarks to Clarissa.

  But after reaching his room his actions no longer continued normal. First he softly locked his door. Then he changed into the clothes which he had prepared: a black suit, black socks and sand shoes, while he left aside to be assumed later, thin black rubber gloves and a black cap with a hanging mask all round. Then he disarranged his bed, got out an electric torch, and sat down to wait till it was his normal time to turn out the light.

  This moment having arrived, he switched on his torch, put out the mains light, and got out his knotted rope. Inch by inch he pulled his window curtains back, opening two adjoining sashes. The window was fitted with lead lights and dividing mullions, and this left a mullion standing clear. Round the mullion George wrapped a cloth, and on the cloth he hooked his rope, satisfied that, thus protected, his weight on the rope would not mark the paint. Then once again he settled down to wait.

  As he sat there in the dark, he learnt something about the passage of time which he had never known before. He simply could not have conceived that it could drag so slowly. He would look at his luminous watch, decide he would not do so again for half an hour, and when he did look, find that only four or five minutes had passed. He had read of time passing like that in the case of prisoners: how dreadful for them! He had also read about that converse phenomenon: how for those awaiting execution there was added to these dragging minutes the terribly swift and inexorable approach of the final day. This thought, which had come unbidden to his mind, filled him with a sudden panic. For a few moments he felt physically sick, while a cold sweat broke out all over him. With trembling hands he took out the flask which he had put in his pocket for use in this very emergency, and swallowed a small quantity of the spirit. There was danger here also: he could so easily take too much.

  The whisky steadied him and he grew more normal. As he looked out of the open windows he congratulated himself that the weather at least was aiding him. A better night indeed he could scarcely have had. It was dark, but not absolutely black. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and the stars gave just the right amount of light. No rain had fallen for some days and the ground was too hard to show footmarks. Finally, there was just enough wind in the trees to cover up any slight sounds he might make, but not enough to flap his curtains and prevent him leaving his window open.

  Over and over again he reviewed what he proposed to do, so that he would forget nothing. It would be easy, he felt sure. He had only to keep his head and all would be well.

  Except for a telephone call on the previous Tuesday, saying in an innocuous code that he was unable to despatch the snake, George had not communicated with Capper since the vital interview at which the affair had been agreed on. That call, he told himself, would be the last. To-night would finish his part in the affair.

  At long last the hands of his watch drew on to half-past one, zero hour for his operations. With a look round he crept noiselessly to the window, climbed out, and lowered himself to the ground.

  His immediate danger was now the night watchman, though as he knew the man’s rounds, he felt he should be able to avoid him. Without incident he reached his office, let himself in, and took from his safe certain articles which he had prepared: a tiny phial, a Pravaz syringe, a special tongs consisting of a leathern loop at the end of the stick for picking up a snake by the neck, and a screw clamp of a novel kind. Carrying these under his coat, he let himself out of the office and crept silently towards the snake-house.

  His nerves were on edge and twice suspicious sounds sent him crouching behind shrubs. But these proved to be false alarms and he reached his goal unobserved. Safely he entered, locking the door behind him.

  He had already solved one of his major problems: which snake to select. It must be small enough to go into a package which could be posted in a letter box, and its venom must be deadly and act quickly. He had decided on the smallest of the Russell vipers. As well as meeting Capper’s requirements, these snakes were rather sluggi
sh and comparatively easy to handle. Moreover, there were four of them in the cage, and as they frequently lay coiled together, it was unlikely the keeper would immediately miss the absentee.

  Now that he was actually at the critical stage of his operations, George’s nerves steadied. From the service passage at the back of the cages he unlocked and slid open the metal door of the vipers’ cage, put in his tongs, skilfully slipped the noose over the selected snake’s head and drew it out, twisting and wriggling, but held securely by its neck. Then, with the Pravaz syringe, he collected the drops of venom which in its rage and fear oozed from the ends of its poisonous fangs. Having transferred several drops to the phial, his work in the snake-house was done. He looked carefully round to see that everything was in place, then slipped stealthily out and drew the door behind him.

  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’v
e 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.