It was moonlight. Away down the valley came sounds of revelry from the employees' quarters—men singing to the accompaniment of guitars. The works and aviation sheds appeared deserted, but Peter knew by this time that each place was strictly guarded. And during the walk he fancied he heard movements behind the cacti that bordered the road.
Brian Strong's private experimental shed stood well apart from the rest of the works. It was by no means a large or a pretentious building, measuring forty feet by twenty and constructed of corrugated iron.
Although Uncle Brian was perfectly aware that the Rioguayan authorities could inspect the building at any time, his careless assurances, coupled with the warning that any interference might destroy the fruit of months of research, had resulted in a state of immunity. He was allowed to carry on undisturbed.
But on the other hand, he guarded himself against a possible visit from his State employers. There were drawings in the office, but they referred to commonplace machinery and appliances. Of his invention, his magnum opus, no plans were in existence, save those that lived in his brain. He took extreme caution lest the future enemies of his country should score on that point.
Producing a bunch of keys, Uncle Brian unlocked the comparatively frail door and switched on a light. Peter was about to cross the threshold when his uncle stopped him.
"Half a minute," exclaimed Uncle Brian. "Wait till I've put little Timothy to bed."
His nephew looked in astonishment. Right in the middle of the concrete floor was a coiled-up snake. Hearing footsteps, the reptile raised its head, revealing a pair of deep-set eyes that glittered in the artificial light.
Without hesitation, Uncle Brian grasped the snake at a point about four inches behind the head. The reptile immediately coiled itself round his arm.
"Timothy is quite harmless," explained Uncle Brian. "I got him from an old Indian up-country. I need hardly say the poison sac has been removed. He makes an excellent guard."
"So I should imagine," remarked Peter. "Dashed if I could handle the brute, poisonous or otherwise."