Antidote to Venom (11 page)

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 man 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?”

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.