“Report at once and let’s thoroughly investigate it,” I said promptly.
“No. I can’t report it on account of that snake. If I did, I feel assured that some fatality would fall upon me.”
“You’re unnerved by what you’ve seen,” I said. “It certainly was not a nice position to unexpectedly find oneself alone with the dead in a dark deserted house like that. In any case, however, the matter is a queer one and must be sifted.”
“Yes,” he said, “it appears to be a most remarkable affair.”
“Well,” I exclaimed, “if you are determined not to report it just at present I’m ready to go with you and search the place. The area door is still unlocked, you say?”
He hesitated, pale and agitated. The effect of this discovery upon him had been really remarkable.
“Yes, the door is still unlocked, of course,” he said reflectively, “but personally I don’t care about returning.”
“Rubbish, my dear chap,” I exclaimed. “I don’t believe in superstitions. The finding of the snake was curious, no doubt, but this isn’t the first time snakes have been found in the streets of London. Lots have been discovered about Covent Garden Market, having come over in baskets of fruit.”
He was silent. Evidently his discovery had been a very unusual one. I know well the row of houses he had indicated, the most old-fashioned, perhaps, in the district, for they had formed a part of old Kensington over a century ago, and even now the great iron extinguishers ornamented some of the doorways, mute remembrancers of the days of sedan chairs and linkmen.
“Let’s go and explore the place, and report afterwards,” I urged, my appetite for adventure whetted by his strong disinclination to return. “I’ll report it as a discovery of my own if you are disinclined to do so.”