Stanley moved slowly forward. As he did so, the great snake moved its head higher and higher, hissing angrily, with its eyes fixed on the torches. Stanley did not take his gaze from it; but advanced, grasping his knife. He knew that the boa's bite was harmless, and that it was only its embrace that was to be feared.
He was within some eight feet of the reptile, when there was a spring. The snake's head disappeared and, in a moment, it was writhing, twisting, and lashing its tail so quickly that his eyes could hardly follow its contortions.
"Stand back, master," Meinik shouted. "If its tail strikes you, it might do you an injury. It is harmless, otherwise. I have cut its head off."
Stanley stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing in awe at the tremendous writhing of the headless snake.
"It is a monster, Meinik," he said.
"It is a big snake, master. Indeed, I should say that it must be about forty feet long, and it is as thick as my body. It would be more than a match for a tiger."
"Well, I hope there are not many more of them about, Meinik."
"That depends, master. It may have its mate, but it is more likely there will be no other. It would eat any smaller ones of its own kind, of course; but there may be some small poisonous ones about."
As the writhing of the snake ceased, Stanley looked round and saw a narrow doorway, in the corner opposite that in which it had been lying.
"Here is a passage, Meinik. Let us see where it goes to."