“Certainly, quite right.” Never had George’s voice sounded so silky and lisping and sinister. He stood quite still, seemingly waiting for them to go, the snake coiled round his shoulders. Ruth was only too glad to make her escape and Terry followed her. In the hall he turned to her smiling.
“No wonder you were frightened if that’s what you saw, but you see it’s quite all right—Gloria knows about it and it hasn’t any significance. Of course snakes aren’t pleasant things to have in the house, but this one is harmless, so I hope it won’t disturb your sleep.”
“Do you believe what George said,” she asked.
“Of course, why not?”
“Because I don’t. He may be practising tricks for the Christmas party—that may be true, but there was no trick to what we saw just now—the snake was real, and the altar and the incense—and George was praying—he was praying to that snake.”
“Even so,” said Terry. “We’re not missionaries that we should try to convert the heathen. I don’t care how many snake worshippers there are in New York.”
“It isn’t that, Terry—I know it sounds weird, but the night I saw him before, was the night Professor Pendragon was stricken with paralysis—”
She stopped frightened by the lack of comprehension in Terry’s face.
“Don’t you see if George will worship a snake, he is the sort of person who will pray calamities on his enemies. If he loves Gloria, then he hates Professor Pendragon, because he is the only man Gloria has loved. When Pendragon’s name was first mentioned, you remember the Sunday morning I got the card to the water colour show, George was even more concerned than Gloria, and when I went he warned me to be careful what I said. I believe that he is responsible for Pendragon’s illness.”
Comprehension had dawned in Terry’s face, but with it Ruth could see a tolerant incredulity and a wonder that she could believe such nonsense.