George absently took a cigarette from his case, as an afterthought handing it to Kirkman and the officers. Kirkman took one, but the inspector declined on the ground that policemen did not smoke on duty. The little incident seemed to George a pointer to the fact, real for all its concealment, that he and this civil-spoken man were deadly enemies; that unless he, George, could lie sufficiently convincingly to deceive him, he literally would have George’s life. George crushed back the thought as he answered.
“I need scarcely tell you that I realise the potentialities of these keys and am correspondingly careful. I carry them in my hip pocket and change them into whatever suit I am wearing. At night I leave them at the head of my bed.”
“Do you ever lend them? I mean, it’s easy to say to someone, ‘Here are my keys. Get me such a thing from such a drawer.’ ”
“I never do that and I’m careful never to leave them about. But since we’re on the subject, something did happen which I’m rather ashamed of. On,” George took his diary from his pocket and slowly turned the pages. “I’m not sure of the exact day,” he went on, “but it was between ten days and a fortnight ago. I went over to see my friend, Mr. Mornington, who’s been ill. He lives in Calshort Road, and my direct way was through the Zoo side door. I don’t know if you noticed it, not far from the back of the snake-house?”
“I noticed it, sir.”
“On my way back I very stupidly left my keys in the side door. I don’t remember anything about it, and this explanation is not what I know happened, but what I afterwards thought must have. I had opened the door to enter, when a car drew up at the footpath, and the driver asked me if that was the road to Bursham. I went over and explained the route, then returning to the office. Presently I wanted to open the safe, and when I felt for my keys, they weren’t in my pocket. They were found where I told you, hanging in the lock of the side door. I presume I had left them in the door when I was called to the car, and simply forgotten about them. This is the only case of mislaying them I remember.”
“How long were they left hanging in the lock?”
“Oh, quite a short time: little more than half an hour.”
Inspector Rankin rubbed his nose. “I’m glad you mentioned it, though speaking offhand, I don’t think it’s likely to help us. If this thing is not an accident, it was carefully thought out beforehand. But no one knew that you were going to leave your keys in the door, and no one could have been prepared with material to take impressions. Now another point. What about the relations of the staff? Any feuds or hatreds raging?”
“Obviously,” George returned, “I can’t answer that exhaustively, but so far as I know, there are none. We all get on amicably, and I think the men are as pleasant to each other as they are to me.”
“Any grievances?”
“I’m sure there are, but none of importance that I know of.”
“Anyone dismissed recently?”
George hesitated. An appalling thought had suddenly shot into his mind. He had been so skilful that he knew he himself could never be suspected. But suppose someone else was? Suppose the police fixed the crime on Cochrane? What would he do then? He couldn’t allow an innocent man…
He quickly pulled himself together. Cochrane was innocent and no one could therefore prove him guilty. To cover up the slight pause, George took out and slowly used his handkerchief. “One dismissal a few weeks ago,” he answered. “That could have nothing to do with it.”
“Probably not, sir, but I’d like particulars all the same.”
George gave them. He admitted that Cochrane seemed to consider his treatment unfair, and also that in his capacity as night watchman he might have been able to obtain impressions of the keys, both of which statements were strictly accurate.
“Now, sir, can you tell me anything else that might help me? Any theory you may have, even if you can’t prove it?”
George really didn’t think he could. He was very anxious to help, as for his own sake and the Zoo’s he wanted the affair cleared up as quickly as possible, but the circumstances seemed to him inexplicable.
“And you, sir?” Rankin turned to the chairman.
Colonel Kirkman was unhappily no more accommodating, and the inspector went on to ask for the evidence of members of the staff.
When George had arranged this, he and Kirkman went out to see how the search was progressing.
In accordance with George’s instructions, the men had begun by throwing a cordon round the grounds. These were bounded everywhere by roads, and a few watchers were sufficient to see that the snake did not cross these plain surfaces. The others then formed a line across the gardens, and starting at one side, were pushing gradually through to the other.
“It seems to me,” said George, to his chairman, “that it’s going to take the whole day. The little beggar might be anywhere. The one blessing is that it’s not a tree climber. But it doesn’t follow we’ll get it on the ground. It might have gone down any of the drains, for instance.”
“Your cordon ensures that it’s in the gardens at all events.”
“No, it doesn’t really,” George returned. “It might have crossed the road before the cordon was set there. It might be anywhere now. And there is the chance, of course, that Rankin is right and that it was stolen to murder someone.”
“I don’t like to think of that,” said Kirkman, with a shudder.
George shook his head. “The whole thing is damnable,” he declared. “There’s the danger: half a dozen people may be bitten before the brute’s caught. There’s the drop in our prestige for letting a dangerous reptile escape into a crowded neighbourhood. And there’s the loss of revenue: we can’t do without our daily gate. It’s the worst thing that’s happened since I’ve been in charge. I don’t pretend it hasn’t worried me greatly.”
“I don’t see that you could do any more than you’re doing,” put in Kirkman.
“I’m grateful to you for saying so. However, things may not be so bad as we fear. They may find the chap at any moment. Of course, that wouldn’t end it. There’ll be a nervousness among the public which will be reflected in our receipts for many a day to come. Can’t blame them. I’m going to clear my wife out till the beggar’s found.”
As soon as they had seen the workers, Colonel Kirkman left the gardens and George went home to carry out his threat. “You must be out of the house in half an hour’s time,” he told Clarissa. “These chaps are dangerous. It’ll be frightened and it’ll go for anyone it sees. Take rooms at the Midland, or somewhere, and I’ll join you later.”
George wondered what he should do at lunch-time. If he went down town his walk would constitute a gap in his alibi. Besides, would it not look better to remain in the gardens during the search? On the plea, therefore, of maintaining a line which the snake could not cross, he arranged with a firm of caterers to serve a plain meal at the “front.” He himself stayed with the men, thus safeguarding his alibi and strengthening his reputation as a good employer.
All the afternoon the work progressed, until just as it was growing dusk the entire gardens had been covered. George exhibited a growing dismay as the unexamined area grew smaller, and as soon as it was finished he rang up Kirkman, asking him to come round for a further consultation. The Colonel was out, but he appeared about seven.
“We’ve done our level best,” George told him, in the presence of Milliken. “We’ve searched everywhere. We’ve even torn up drains and pulled away brickwork from narrow corners. Could we have done more than we have, Milliken?”
Milliken agreed that no search could have been carried out more thoroughly.
“And that means?” queried Kirkman.
“One of two things, as far as I can see,” George answered. “Either the chap got across one of the roads before we put our men out, or else the inspector’s suggestion is the truth.”
“If the inspector’
s right, we’ll hear about it before long,” Kirkman said, gloomily.
George nodded. “That’s unhappily true, and of course if we hear, all our problems are solved. But I’d like to discuss what we should do if we don’t hear. Shall we, for instance, open to-morrow?”
“What do you feel about it yourself?” Kirkman asked.
“I shouldn’t do so,” George answered decisively.
“While I don’t believe the snake is in the gardens, we can’t be absolutely sure. If a visitor was bitten, we’d be ruined for years to come. No, I should wait for another day or two.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And to-morrow I shall repeat the search.”
“I think you’re right again.”
“Very well,” said George, “that’s settled. Will you tell everybody, Milliken? And without making much of it, you may hint there’ll be extra money for a dangerous job.”
The head keeper saluted and went out, and George turned to his chairman.
“I don’t know what to do myself to-night,” he said wearily. “I don’t altogether like to leave the place, and yet there’s nothing I can do here. I moved my wife down to the Midland. That house of ours is too much in the danger zone.”
“Quite right. I don’t see any point in either of us staying. If you like to join your people, my car’s at the gate and I’ll run you down on my way home.”
George smiled. “That would be a really friendly act,” he declared. “Thank you, I’ll go.”
George was truly grateful. This was the thing of all others he had wanted, company from the gardens to the hotel, a continuation of his alibi. And not he, but Kirkman, had suggested it. Splendid!
“Why not stay and have a bit of dinner with us now you’re here?” he went on as they reached the Midland. “I know Mrs. Surridge would be delighted.”
The Colonel looked at him. “As a matter of fact, I should be glad to,” he answered. “Mrs. Kirkman’s in London and I’m all alone.”
It was nearly eight when they sat down and getting on for nine when they returned to the lounge for coffee. But before it arrived George was called to the telephone. He hurried off, and when he heard the message his heart seemed to lose a beat.
“Good God!” he ejaculated. “Dead!” He paused, fighting his emotions, then went on, “Colonel Kirkman’s here. We’ll go round at once.”
George had no need to screw his features into an expression of surprise and horror as he beckoned Kirkman out of the lounge. He felt both, more intensely than he could have believed possible.
“That was Marr,” he said in a low, strained voice. “He has bad news. He rings up to say Professor Burnaby is dead—from snake-bite! I told him we’d go round at once.”
The two men looked at each other in an awed silence. Then Kirkman made a sudden gesture. “Burnaby!” he ejaculated. “So it was Burnaby after all! Though I suggested it to Nesbit, I didn’t really believe it myself.”
George looked—and was—deeply moved. “Nor did I,” he answered slowly. “I didn’t think he had it in him.” He paused and shook his head. “But it shows how far gone the poor old fellow was. A year ago such a thing wouldn’t have happened.”
“It justifies our withdrawal of the permission.”
“I never had any doubt about that.”
Kirkman shook his head. “Where did it happen?” he asked.
“At Marr’s apparently. Marr rang up from his own house.”
“Well, I’m at least glad it wasn’t in the Zoo.”
“Yes, that would have been even worse,” George admitted, with some impatience. “But shouldn’t we go over? I told Marr we would.”
Dr. Marr’s little place, “Rylands,” was at the other side of Liverham Avenue from the Zoo, and some hundred yards to the left of the main entrance, just opposite where Calshort Road ran off at right-angles. As they approached the gate a car swung in.
“The police,” said Kirkman. “I saw Rankin and that sergeant of his as that street lamp shone on them.”
Since the news of the tragedy fear had once again filled George’s mind: a greater fear even than before. For the first time he was up against the unknown. He had no idea what Capper had done. Capper seemed to be efficient, but no man is infallible. If he made a mistake, it would not be his own neck only that would be in danger. If Capper had made a slip—the thing seemed to hit George like a physical blow—he, George, might be hanged! A cold sweat of terror came out over his body as he realised that this was not a mere theoretic contingency, but a very real and pressing danger. Fighting to control himself, he stepped out of the car.
“Rylands” was a long, low, old-fashioned house, which had been built years before the city had swept into its maw what had then been woodland country. At one time the house had been the centre of a little estate of some dozen acres, but various encroachments had taken place, and Marr was now well satisfied to have retained a tenth of the original area. The door lay open and a bright light streamed out from the hall on to the two cars and the shrubs behind. George, who was no stranger, entered without knocking. Marr’s voice came from a room to the right. As George hesitated, Marr himself moved across the doorway and saw him.
“Come in, Surridge,” he invited. “Come in, Colonel. You know Inspector Rankin, I suppose?”
“This is a terrible affair,” George said, as he followed his chairman into the doctor’s waiting-room. “Is he really—dead?”
“Oh, yes. I could do nothing. He was unconscious when I saw him and died shortly after.”
“Where did you find him, Dr. Marr?” Kirkman put in, a little testily. “Perhaps you would tell us something about it? We have heard no details.”
“I was just telling the inspector,” Marr rejoined. “I may tell that little bit again, inspector?” He turned towards the new arrivals. “It was cook who found him. It’s her evening out and she was starting off when she found him lying on the drive. At least, she saw a figure; she didn’t then know who it was. She rushed back, screaming for me, and I hurried down to where he was lying: just inside the gate. He was stretched on his face with his head pointing towards the house. I could see him clearly in the light of a street lamp. I turned him over and realised at once it was Burnaby. As I said, he was unconscious.”
“And then, sir?” queried Rankin.
“Then,” said Marr, “I carried him in and laid him on the couch in my consulting-room. I examined him, and I saw his right hand was swollen. Further inspection showed in the palm what I took to be the marks of a small snake’s fangs. I had heard, of course, of all this fuss at the Zoo over an escaped snake, and it seemed to me that there might be a connection. I treated him as best I could for snake-bite, but unhappily he was too far gone, and he died in a few minutes. I immediately rang up, first, Burnaby’s nephew, a man called Capper, and then yourself, inspector. I had heard you, Surridge, had moved to the Midland, so I ’phoned you there, thinking you might be an interested party. We are fortunate in having Colonel Kirkman also.”
“Very fortunate, sir,” Rankin returned, politely. “Do I understand you to say that the death was caused by snake-bite?”
Marr seemed suddenly to awake to his duties as host. The five men had been standing in the middle of the room, but now the doctor indicated chairs. “Won’t you sit down,” he invited. “Take the side table, inspector, if you want to write. I’ll get you drinks presently. I expect we could all do with them.”
They absently seated themselves and Marr went on. “You were asking if it was death from snake-bite? Officially, I’m not satisfied. Privately, I haven’t the slightest doubt, but officially I must wait for a post mortem.”
Rankin nodded understandingly. “You were in some danger when you lifted the deceased, were you not?” he went on. “You didn’t see the snake?”
“No, I didn’t, and I didn’t suspect its existence till I h
ad carried the body in.”
“We’d better have a look at the body. Perhaps Mr. Surridge can tell us whether the fang marks might belong to the escaped snake. I understand they vary considerably, Mr. Surridge?”
Though he knew that this was coming, George felt a horrible spasm of fear. Then it passed and he heard himself speaking in his customary tones.
“Fang marks naturally vary according to the size of the snake. The Russell’s viper which escaped was a small snake, less than three feet long. The marks would be fairly close together.”
“How close, sir? Could you form an opinion?”
George shook his head. “I don’t think I could say exactly. Less than half an inch, I should think.”
“Well, let’s see what they’re like at all events.”
They trooped next door into the consulting-room. On the couch lay the body. To his relief, George found he could look at it with reasonable calm. The eyes were closed: the doctor had probably seen to that; and the face was peaceful enough. If the old man had suffered, no traces remained in his expression. The right hand was swollen, and when Dr. Marr turned it over, they could see the two little wounds in the palm. They were less than half an inch apart.
“Do you think those might have been caused by the snake which escaped?” Rankin asked, and George, when he replied that he believed so, was able to show just the right amount of feeling.
Then suddenly George saw that he was on the verge of making a terrible mistake. As head of the Zoo, one idea, and one only, should be paramount in his mind. The recapture of the snake! And he had forgotten it! He hastened to amend his error.
“Excuse me, inspector, but there’s one matter that can scarcely wait for your investigation. I mean the recapture of the snake. This affair shows it’s alive and not far away from where we’re sitting.”
“I was coming to that, sir,” Rankin returned, civilly, “but a few moments’ discussion won’t make much difference now, and may save time later.” He turned to Marr. “Can you give us any help, doctor, as to when the accident might have occurred?”
Antidote to Venom Page 13
