ail in the thick dust on the floor, but there isn't a
sign."

"Yes, I spotted that," said Dermot, lighting a cigarette over the lamp
chimney. "I see the game. My lamp--which was here, for I dressed for dinner
by its light--was taken away, so that I'd have to go to bed in the dark;
and, by Jove, I very nearly did! Then I'd have kicked against the cobra as
I got in, and been bitten. The lamp would have been put back in the morning
before I was 'found.' Look here, Barclay, I owe you a lot. Without you I'd
be dead in two hours."

"Or less. Sometimes the bite is fatal in forty minutes. Yes, there's no
doubt of it, you'd have been done for. Lucky thing I hadn't gone to bed and
heard you. Now, what'll we do with the brute?"

He looked at the writhing snake.

"Wait a minute. Where are the matches?"

He picked up a box from the dressing-table, moved the chair from the door
and left the room. In a minute or two he returned, carrying an old
porcelain vase, and shut the door.

"I found this stuck away with a lot of rubbish in the outer room," he said.
"I don't suppose any one will miss it."

Dermot watched him with curiosity as he placed the vase on the floor near
the bed and picked up the cane. Putting its point under the cobra he lifted
the wriggling body on the stick and with some difficulty dropped the snake
into the vase, where they heard its head striking the sides with furious
blows.

"I hope it won't break the damned thing just when I'm carrying it," he
said, regarding the vase anxiously.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Dermot.

The police officer lowered his voice.

"Well, Major, we don't want these would-be murderers to know how their
trick failed. That's the reason I didn't pound the brute to a jelly on the
bed, for it would have made such a mess on the sheet. Now there isn't a
speck on it. I'll take the vase with me into my room and finish the cobra
off. In the morning I'll get rid of its body somehow. When these devils
find tomorrow that you're not dead, they'll be very puzzled. Now, the
question is, what are you going to do?"

"Going to bed," answered Dermot, continuing to undress. "There's nothing
else to be done at this hour, is there?"

The police officer looked at him with admiration.

"By George, sir, you've got pluck. If it were I, I'd want to sit up all
night with a pistol."

"Not you. Otherwise you wouldn't be in the place at all. Besides you are
qualifying for delicate little attentio