Dermot smiled.
"Very probably," he replied. Then in a low voice he continued: "Look here, Barclay, do you know anything of the state of affairs in this province? I mean, politically."
The police officer nodded.
"I do. I'm here in Lalpuri to try to find out things. The root of the trouble in Bengal is here."
"Then I can tell you that I have been sent on a special mission to the border and have come to this city to try to follow up a clue."
The D.S.P. drew a deep breath.
"That accounts for it. Look here, Major, I've seen this trick with the snake before. Not long ago I tried to hang the servant of a rich bunniah for murdering his master by means of it, but the Sessions Judge wouldn't convict him. If you look you'll see that that brute"—he pointed to the cobra writhing in agony on the bed and sinking its fangs into its own flesh—"never got up there by itself. It was put there. Otherwise it would have left a clear trail 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.