“He has power in the house—a dynamo and a gas engine,” explained Gonsalez.
Poiccart had been to town and had returned with a long and heavy steel cylinder, which Leon and Manfred carried between them into the open and left. They were sniped vigorously from the roof, and although the firing was rather wild, the officer in charge of the operations forbade any further movement in daylight.
At midnight came the blessed Washington. They had been waiting for him with eagerness, for he, of all men, knew something that they did not know. Briefly, Leon described the snake-room and its contents. He was not absolutely certain of some of the species, but his description was near enough to give the snake expert an idea of the species.
“Yes, sir, they’re all deadly,” said Washington, shaking his head. “I guess there isn’t a thing there, bar the scorps, who wouldn’t put a grown man to sleep in five minutes—ten minutes at the most.”
They showed him the remains of the dead snake and he instantly recognized the kind, as the zoological expert had done in the afternoon.
“That’s mamba. He’s nearly the deadliest of all. You didn’t see a fellow with a long bill-shaped head? You did? Well, that’s fer-de-lance, and he’s almost as bad. The little red fellows were corals. . . .”
Leon questioned him more closely.
“No, sir, they don’t leap—that’s not their way. A tree snake will hang on to something overhead and get you as you pass, and they’ll swing from the floor, but their head’s got to touch the floor first. The poor little fellow that killed Gurther was scared, and when they’re scared they’ll lash up at you—I’ve known a man to be bitten in the throat by a snake that whipped up from the ground. But usually they’re satisfied to get your leg.”
Leon told him his plan.
“I’ll come along with you,” said Washington without hesitation.