Marr shook his head. “I should have to look up authorities,” he returned. “The professor died about twenty minutes to nine. Probably, though this is rather a guess, he was bitten about half an hour earlier.”
“Say a few minutes past eight?”
“Yes, subject to correction.”
“Good enough for the present. Now another question. Where do you think the accident might have taken place? I take it, not necessarily on your drive?”
“You mean the professor might have walked to where he was found after being bitten?”
“Yes; is that possible?”
“I think so. But as to how far he might have walked: well, that’s more difficult. What do you say, Surridge?”
“I couldn’t tell,” George returned, “except that Russell’s vipers are very deadly and the poison acts quickly.”
“Again speaking subject to correction, I imagine he could scarcely walk for more than about five minutes after being bitten.”
“And he certainly couldn’t do more than seventy or eighty yards a minute. That means he must have been bitten not more than a quarter of a mile from here?”
“Less, surely,” suggested George.
“Less, I fancy,” Marr agreed, “but we cannot say to a yard.”
Rankin nodded. “I appreciate that, sir. Now another question. Were you expecting the deceased to call?”
Marr lit a cigarette. “No. It would have been a most unusual thing for him to have done.”
“Then can you account for his being found on the drive?”
“I imagined he had been struck somewhere nearby and was coming to me for professional help.”
The inspector looked at George. “You knew the deceased, Mr. Surridge. Would that appeal to you as likely?”
George thought it must be what had taken place.
“Now,” went on Rankin, whose methods seemed to George slow, if unpleasantly sure, “perhaps we could go a step farther. Where, within a quarter of a mile or less, might he have come from?”
George calculated mentally. “It’s about two hundred and fifty yards to his own gate and, say, three hundred to his hall door. And it’s a little under two hundred yards to the side door of the Zoo.”
“That’s helpful, sir. He might have come either from his home or the Zoo. And on the probabilities I should say from his home. Does anyone know his usual movements at home?”
Beyond the fact that Burnaby usually spent the evenings reading in his study, no one did.
“Then it seems to me I must start work at his home,” Rankin concluded, closing his note-book. “Now, doctor, what about a post mortem?”
“There’s something more urgent than that,” George reminded him. “What about a search for the snake?”
“I suggest, sir, that you’re the best man to undertake that. If we can help you, we shall be glad to do so.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do very much in the dark,” George pointed out. “I might get a cordon round the place, though even that won’t be easy. Let’s see, just what would we have to include?”
Rankin looked from one to the other. “I don’t know the place very well,” he was beginning, when Marr cut him short.
“To be any use, you’d have to surround that whole lot of houses from this road up to Mornington’s. How many are there, Surridge? Mornington’s is the last. Beyond it there’s a lane running from the road to the river and connecting with the path along the bank.”
“Eight or nine certainly,” said George. “The frontage must be nearly four hundred yards.”
“Yes, I should say about that,” Marr agreed.
George rose. “I’ll fix it up,” he promised.
A few moments later the little gathering broke up, George leaving to get out his search party, the inspector and his sergeant to continue their inquiries at “Riverview,” and Marr to start his detailed examination of the body.
Chapter XII
Venom: Through Deceit
Head Keeper Milliken lived some half mile from the Zoo, and thither George took his way. He was feeling shaken from the strain of the interview which had just taken place. But though his limbs ached with weariness and he was slightly tottery about the knees, he had at the same time a feeling of immense relief. The learning of Burnaby’s death was by far the worst ordeal he would have to face. Now that was over, and well over. Looking back on all he had said and done, he thought his conduct had been beyond praise. At no single point could the slightest suspicion have been aroused.
In one way it had been unexpectedly easy. It had not been hard to show surprise, because he had been surprised. He had no difficulty in exhibiting horror, because he felt horror. He could ask for details with an appearance of ignorance, because he was ignorant. He was, in fact, completely puzzled by the whole affair. What had Capper done? The snake was dead and could not have bitten Burnaby. Capper must therefore have had a second snake, a live one. Why had he wanted the dead one?
As George paced along, gradually the answer occurred to him. Capper had not wanted a dead snake or a phial of venom. What Capper had wanted was a hold over George which would prevent him from ever giving away what had been done.
Well, he had certainly got it. Whatever part the sending of the snake had played in the affair, George had sent it and he could never shuffle out of his responsibility. With all his relief at the way things were going, he felt that responsibility like a physical weight on his shoulders.
But he must not, he felt, think of that. To do so would be to unnerve him, and he wanted all his nerve for what was coming. Banishing, therefore, all thoughts save those of the immediate present, he reached Milliken’s and told him the story. Once again he was delighted by the natural and unsuspicious manner he achieved.
“I’m sorry to hear it, sir,” the head keeper answered. “I’ve known Professor Burnaby now for the most of five years and I always thought him a fine old gentleman. Very civil and pleasant spoken he always was, and generous too. I’m sorry about it and I’m sorry for the way he went. But, of course,” he added, after a pause, “he didn’t ought to have taken the snake.”
George started. So absorbed had he been in his own part in the affair that he had actually overlooked this point of view. Why of course! What a fool he had been! Capper’s plans had been better than he had realised. If Burnaby had stolen the snake, the affair would naturally be dismissed as an accident. No hint of any second person being involved would arise. As Capper had said, the thing was safe, absolutely safe!
But he must not unduly support this theory. “We can’t say that definitely,” he answered, judicially, “though I admit it looks like it. But the police will soon clear it up. In the meantime what we’re concerned with is the snake. It must have been within quarter of a mile of Dr. Marr’s gate at eight o’clock. Now I’m not on for searching in the dark, but I think we should cordon the roads.”
“Right, sir,” Milliken returned. “You say the word and I’ll get the men out.”
Some half-hour later the Burnaby-Mornington block was surrounded by keepers with flares placed where they considered the street lighting insufficient. George thought it right to warn the householders to keep their doors shut and not to go out in the dark without a torch, and this he did personally.
It was getting on to eleven when he had finished and he felt ready to turn in. But more powerful than his fatigue was his anxiety to know what Rankin had discovered. For once discretion and desire pointed in the same direction. He walked over to “Riverview” in the hope that the man might still be there.
Rankin appeared to expect him. “I thought you’d be round,” he said, in a friendly way which George found very comforting. “We haven’t cleared up everything, but I don’t think there’s much doubt on the broad issue. I’m afraid the poor old gentleman had only himself to thank for what’s happened.”
“Th
en you think he took the snake?” asked George.
“I think so. Mind you, I can’t prove it as yet. But it looks that way.”
George strove hard to suppress his rising feeling of jubilation. “If it’s a fair question,” he went on, “what have you found out?”
“Nothing that won’t come out at the inquest,” the inspector returned. “When we got here we found the house empty. Sergeant Risbridger happened to know the maid, Lily Cochrane by name, and went to find her. She explained that she was only a day maid and left every evening at six. But she put him on to where he would find Mrs. Pertwee, the housekeeper, and he brought her back. Wednesday’s her evening out and she had carried on this evening as usual.
“She said the professor had dined this evening at his ordinary time of seven, and had been quite normal in manner. He always went on Wednesday evenings to his friend, Mr. Leet, to play chess, coming home about ten. She went out herself as soon as the dinner things were washed up, which was about eight, and she wasn’t expecting to return till half-past ten, by which time the deceased was usually on his way to bed.”
“He was always an early man,” George put in.
“Is that so? Well, that’s what she said. When she left he was still in the house, but she supposed he was going out. I may say that she was very much upset about the old man and a bit incoherent, though—” Rankin’s eyes twinkled as he continued—“it wasn’t till she understood the snake might be loose in the house that she woke up properly. Her employer’s death became pretty small beer to her then. She had her skirts up round her knees and was making for the door before I had finished my sentence, and it was only by telling her that it would be more dangerous outside that I got her to finish her story. Then I went with her while she packed a few things and Sergeant Risbridger saw her to an hotel.”
“Then the professor didn’t go to Mr. Leet’s?”
“While Risbridger was out with Mrs. Pertwee I went round to inquire. Mr. Leet lives, as you probably know, in the next house to Mr. Mornington, the first beyond the lane to the river. Leet was properly horrified at the news; said he’d been expecting the deceased for their game of chess, but he hadn’t turned up. Leet said he half thought of going round to ‘Riverview’ to find out if anything was wrong, but the professor didn’t always go for his game: only if he felt like it. Leet didn’t suppose it was more than that.”
“And what do you think happened?” George asked, as the inspector came to an end.
“We can’t say in detail yet, but I expect a search of the house will tell us. I’m assuming the deceased had been looking at the snake before going out, and had somehow let it escape from its cage, and got bitten. Then see the fix he’d be in. He was alone in the house and I suppose he couldn’t treat himself, and he evidently thought his best plan was to get over to Dr. Marr’s as quick as he could. Quite natural, too, I should say.”
“Couldn’t he have telephoned?”
“No, he couldn’t. That was the first thing I asked. It appears he had answered the telephone at the time of his daughter’s accident and some fool had blurted out without any preparation that she was dead. That had put him off telephones, and he had had his removed.”
“A bit drastic, surely,” George commented.
“He was old,” Rankin pointed out, in the tone of a man making generous allowance for his fellow’s frailty.
George pondered the story. “Was the house door open or closed?” he asked presently.
“Closed.”
“Do you think, under the circumstances, he would have closed it? Wouldn’t he have just hurried off without bothering about it?”
“A good point,” the inspector approved. “I thought of that. But I don’t agree with you. He was an unselfish man, I understand, and his thought, even in the emergency, would be for others. The snake, I assume, was loose in the house. He would close the door to keep it in.”
“You may be right,” George agreed. “And you haven’t searched the house?”
Rankin shook his head. “There hasn’t been time,” he pointed out. “All the same, I think it would be safer to wait till daylight. And I was going to suggest,” again the suspicion of a smile appeared in his eyes, “that your men would do it more skilfully. It really isn’t our dirty work, you know.”
“I expected that,” George answered. “As a matter of fact, I’ve already arranged for this entire block to be done as soon as it gets light. But I thought that this house should be taken first, and I was going to speak to you about it.”
“Right, sir. That’s fine. Now, I expect you’re tired. My car’s outside. Can I run you wherever you want to go?”
Half an hour later, George, having consumed a comforting double whisky, was stepping into bed in the Midland Hotel.
His relief at what had taken place was little short of overwhelming. Poor old Burnaby was dead, and his death, as Capper had promised, had been rapid and almost without pain. His money was already virtually Capper’s. Capper, at least, could raise a comfortable sum on his expectations. And part of that sum would come to him, George. Within a few days at least George’s financial worries would be over.
Still more important, all this had happened without arousing the slightest suspicion. It was clear that Rankin had made up his mind on the case. He believed Burnaby had stolen the snake and had an accident with it. How clever, George thought again, had been Capper’s plan! How amazingly clever that all the false suggestions required should have been made, not by Capper nor himself, but by the police!
But, George reminded himself, he was not yet out of the wood. It was still true that one unguarded word, one indication that he knew more than he had been told, might give away the whole affair. Profoundly satisfied though he was, he saw that he could not for one moment relax.
Next morning he was out early with his men. Those who had been on duty all night, he sent home with orders to turn out again in a couple of hours. All the rest who could be spared from the closed Zoo he set to work in Burnaby’s house. The search was to be absolutely exhaustive, and if no find was made, the party was to move on to the grounds.
He stayed with the men for some time, then went for breakfast, and from that to the office. Though this business of the snake must be treated as of vital importance, the Zoo itself could not be entirely neglected. Two days’ correspondence made a sizeable pile, and though Miss Hepworth had done her best, a great many matters required George’s personal attention.
About eleven he went back to help the searchers. He found them working next door to Burnaby’s. They had completed the house without result, and then, going to the lane, had started a drive through Mornington’s ground. In another half-hour they would be through the hedge and on Burnaby’s half acre.
George worked with the others, his presence encouraging them, and the fact that he was willing to share this dangerous job adding to his prestige. He kept on reminding himself that he must show eagerness, though, as he knew they would find nothing, this grew harder and harder. Then he received another surprise.
They had worked through into “Riverview,” and all instinctively redoubled their efforts. Every inch of the ground was covered, every pile of rotting leaves turned over, the base of every shrub and plank examined. Then suddenly one of the keepers gave a cry.
George hurried over. The man was gazing down into a water barrel which stood against the side wall of the house, close to the french window of Burnaby’s study. He had run most of the water off, and on the bottom, almost invisible against the dark wood, lay the snake.
“At last!” cried George, trying to exhibit satisfaction instead of the astonishment he felt. “Thank goodness we’ve got the brute! Milliken!” he shouted. “We’ve found it! You may call off the search.”
The keepers, ceasing work, moved across and crowded round the barrel.
“It looks to be dead, sir,” Milliken exclaimed, as he peered i
n.
“It certainly does,” George agreed. “But we’ll run no risks. Someone get a tool and lift it out.”
A rake was speedily forthcoming and the snake was hoisted from the water. It hung limp from the crossbar, and when it was dropped on the grass it remained motionless.
“That’s it all right,” said George. “What do you say, Nesbit?”
“That’s it, sir,” the keeper pronounced. “Thank heavens, the place is safe again.”
“Better get it secured in case it revives,” George advised. “You brought a cage, didn’t you?”
A box had been provided for emergencies, and the snake was fastened up. “Bring it along to my office, Milliken,” George went on. “You other men get off home and be back at your jobs by two o’clock. We’ll reopen after lunch.”
George was absolutely delighted as he considered this last factor of Capper’s scheme—however the man had arranged it. The finding of the snake’s body at Burnaby’s house was the one thing needed to clinch the accident theory. No one could now doubt that the professor was the thief. The discovery would be hailed by Rankin as proof of the theory he already held, and because it was his theory he would hold it more tenaciously than ever. The objections of others he would brush aside. In fact, further inquiry would be eliminated and the case would be closed. George felt he need be anxious no longer. The wretched business was as good as over.
There ensued a somewhat hectic half-hour. George telephoned the news to Rankin and Kirkman. He asked the various newspapers to exhibit it on posters at their offices, as well as prominently in their next issues. He arranged for the whole cumbersome machinery of Zoo service to be put once more in motion. Lastly, he rang up Clarissa at the Midland and told her she might return home.
He would have given almost anything to be in similar touch with Nancy. Nancy would certainly have read of the disappearance of the snake, and would no doubt be anxious about him. How he longed to reassure her! How desperately he desired to see her! But he realised that any communication with her was out of the question. The slightest deviation from the normal would be dangerous. The police were apparently satisfied, but one could never be sure of them. They might talk the friendliest platitudes and yet be watching his every move. Not for a long time could he risk another expedition to Rose Cottage.
Antidote to Venom Page 14