“The Snake,” said Manfred briefly. “There are no marks on his face, so far as I can see.”
“Do you notice his wrist, George?”
Then, looking past the figure, Gonsalez saw the girl lying on the bed, and recognized Joan before he saw her face. Half-way across the room he slipped on something. Instinctively he knew it was a snake and leapt around, his pistol balanced.
“Merciful heaven! Look at this!”
He stared from the one reptile to the other.
“Dead!” he said. “That explains Gurther.”
Quickly he unstrapped Joan’s wrists and lifted up her head, listening, his ear pressed to the faintly fluttering heart. The basin and the sponge told its own story. Where was Mirabelle?
There was another room, and a row of big cupboards, but the girl was in no place that he searched.
“She’s gone, of course,” said Manfred quietly. “Otherwise, the trap would not have been open. We’d better get this poor girl out of the way and search the grounds. Digby, go to——”
He stopped.