Antidote to Venom

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  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?”

  George hesitated. He mustn’t answer too quickly. The interview was going well, and it must continue to do so. As he had intended, Kirkman had made all the desired suggestions, while he himself had been against suspecting anyone. His conduct had been that of an innocent and high-principled man, and he felt sure this would afterwards be remembered in his favour.

  “There are possibles, of course,” he replied, doubtfully. “Most of the men about the Zoo could have obtained impressions of the keys. Milliken,
for instance, possesses a set of his own. Someone might have got hold of his or of Nesbit’s. But I don’t suspect anyone.”

  “Milliken himself?”

  “No, I’m sure he’s innocent. He’s far too good a type.”

  A few minutes later two well set up young men arrived and introduced themselves respectively as Detective Inspector Rankin and Sergeant Risbridger of the Birmington City Police. They were competent looking men, dressed in plain clothes and with pleasant straightforward manners. George met them, introduced them to Colonel Kirkman, and calling Nesbit, led the way to the snake-house. As they walked he explained briefly what had taken place.

  George was impressed with the way in which they took hold of the affair. They listened carefully, asked one or two pertinent questions, and said they thought they should begin with an examination of the cage.

  “I hope the snake is not concealed anywhere about it?” the inspector asked, with a rather wry laugh. “We’re not proposing to take on the job of keeper, you know.”

  “If you can find it, you’ll lift a weight off our shoulders,” George returned. “But I don’t think you need worry. We made a very careful search.”

  George was further impressed with the officers’ devotion to duty. They were clearly terrified that at any moment a death-dealing speckled band should flash from some unsuspected hiding place. But they never hesitated. While obviously hating the job, they pushed on with it steadily.

  For the third time that morning the cage of the Russell vipers was subjected to a careful inspection. The door and padlock Rankin tested for fingerprints and was disgusted when he found that Nesbit had handled them that morning.

  “Destroyed a chance of getting the thief’s prints, you have,” he said, reproachfully. “I suppose those are yours? We’ll get yours in a moment and check up.”

  The investigation passed on to the house generally. The entrance door was powdered and the resulting prints were photographed, as well as those on certain handrails, wall surfaces and other places on which an unwary thief might have laid a hand.

  “I shall want now to check up these prints with those of your staff,” the inspector went on to George. “Perhaps, sir, less objection might be raised if you would set the example. May I have yours to start with?”

  George agreed with readiness, remembering thankfully his rubber gloves, and the others followed suit.

  “Next I want statements from all concerned,” continued the inspector. “Perhaps we might begin here with Keeper Nesbit’s. Will you, Mr. Nesbit, tell me all you can about this affair?”

  Nesbit repeated his story. The first thing he did on coming on duty was to inspect the snakes to see that all were in order. He had as usual started at the door and worked along from cage to cage. Everything was normal till he reached the Russell vipers and there he saw that the snakes seemed disturbed. They were moving restlessly about, instead of being coiled up motionless, as he expected to find them. He saw at once that one was missing. It was then that he had made the investigations which had so aroused the inspector’s ire. He had not delayed to make any further search, but had at once gone to inform Mr. Surridge.

  “And what, sir, did you do when you obtained Keeper Nesbit’s report?” Rankin asked George, and when George had detailed his activities, he went on: “I think that’s all we want in the snake-house for the present. Perhaps, sir, you could let us have a room with a table?”

  “Come to my office,” George invited.

  “I think if you, sir, and Colonel Kirkman would come in, the others could wait outside,” the inspector went on, when George had installed him at his own desk. This sounded ominous and George braced himself to meet the bad time which might be coming. He had just the one thing to guard against: not to know too much.

  “Now, gentlemen,” Rankin went on, while the sergeant at the end of the desk prepared to write, “the Zoo and what takes place in it is a sealed book to me. I’m therefore depending on the help of your special knowledge. But before we go on to details I want to put one question. I want to know if you think this snake escaped?”

  George looked at his chairman.

  “You’d better answer,” the latter suggested. “You know more about it than I do.”

  George shrugged. “Well, inspector,” he answered, “I put it to you. Do you think we should have applied to the Criminal Investigation Department of the City Police if we had?”

  “That’s what occurred to me,” Rankin admitted, “though,” he smiled pleasantly, “if you’ll excuse my saying it, I’d rather have the direct form of reply. What exactly did you suspect?”

  George still answered for his chairman. “It was obvious to both of us that the snake could not have got out of its cage unaided, and therefore that it was assisted by human agency. Beyond that we did not go.”

  “But you must have thought of something?”

  George shook his head. The inspector looked disappointed.

  “Oh, come now, sir,” he protested, “I hope you’ll do better than that. Any suggestion would be helpful and I shouldn’t abuse your confidence.”

  “I suppose,” George answered, with a show of unwillingness, “it’s possible that through some carelessness the cage was not properly closed after its last opening, and this morning Nesbit realised it and did what was then possible to repair the error. But I want to say distinctly that I don’t believe this to be true. Nesbit is a reliable man of excellent character.”

  “Supposing your suggestion correct, how would the snake have escaped from the snake-house?”

  “That’s a different matter. They’re very quick-moving creatures, and if it were anywhere near the door when it was opened, it could easily have shot out unseen.”

  “I should like Nesbit’s record.”

  This was obtained from the file and supplemented with George’s impressions. Then Rankin passed to another subject.

  “I should like a list of all those who had access to the snake-house and were in a position to open the cage, apart from any question of motive.”

  “Practically the whole staff, beginning with myself,” answered George. “Three of us have keys of the building, myself, Milliken, the head keeper, and Nesbit. But I dare say anyone could get one of these men’s bunches and take impressions of the keys.”

  “The keys we’ll come to later. Now, supposing this affair was neither carelessness nor accident, can you suggest a motive for, firstly, letting the snake escape, or, secondly, stealing it?”

  George glanced at the Colonel, then shook his head.

  Kirkman moved uneasily. “Well,” he said, and then stopped.

  Rankin turned to him. “Yes, sir?” he said, invitingly.

  “Hang it all, Surridge,” went on Kirkman, “we’ll have to tell the inspector about Burnaby.”

  “Yes, of course,” George returned, with an expression of mild surprise, “I propose to tell him everything. But I don’t think his question led to Burnaby.”

  “I’m not suggesting anyone’s guilty,” Rankin pointed out. “I’m only trying to get the facts.”

  Without any attempt to hide or colour, George told him what was relevant about the professor. While Rankin did not seem impressed, he was careful to get down all the details.

  “And just what was your theory, sir?” he went on, turning to Kirkman.

  “Theory? I’ve no theory,” the latter returned, unhappily. “But you can see the suggestion of the facts for yourself. Here is this old man, anxious to get venom for his experiments. Owing to his breakdown in health, mental as well as physical, the permission for him to work with the snakes is withdrawn. Well, does anything occur to you?”

  “You mean he may have stolen the snake to get the venom?” the inspector suggested, imperturbably.

  “He wouldn’t need to,” George put in. “He could get all the venom he wanted for the asking. Besides, the old ma
n has a strict moral code and I don’t believe he would do such a thing.”

  “That may well be,” Rankin admitted. “All the same, I’m obliged for the hint. Has any other motive occurred to you?”

  George and his chairman shook their heads.

  “Well, one occurs to me,” Rankin went on, a little grimly. “A parcel through the post.” For a moment a hand seemed to clutch George’s heart, then it relaxed as the man continued evenly: “The recipient opens it and—” He shrugged. “If this snake isn’t found soon, I’m afraid we’ll have to consider whether anyone in the Zoo wished an enemy out of the way.”

  Again the hand closed on George’s heart.

  It was beginning.

  Chapter XI

  Venom: Through Murder

  Neither George nor Kirkman replied to Rankin’s disquieting suggestion and the inspector, after a short pause, continued: “Do you think that’s impossible?”

  George, with a confused idea that attack is the best defence, answered at once. “I may admit, since you ask me, that the same idea had occurred to me. But I have no reason whatever to believe it.”

  “I’m not saying it’s true myself,” Rankin agreed, “but we mustn’t overlook the possibility. One thing, however, is certain: until we know more about it we must treat the matter as serious.”

  “Your presence shows that we have done so,” George reminded him.

  “Quite so, sir, and it must excuse my questions. Now one or two points: I’ll start with the keys. You and Keepers Milliken and Nesbit have keys of the snake-house. Beginning with yourself, will you please tell me how you ensure that no one gets access to them?”