A snake it was, indubitably, a huge black specimen with bright yellow stripes. Bland's frenzied yell seemed not to have excited it at all, for now the sleek fellow had arched its body neatly and was calmly licking its sides with a long forked tongue. After a moment it halted the operation long enough to rub its jaw against a bar of its cage, and gave vent to a sociable mew! Even this could not dash the spirits of Horace Perry. He laughed delightedly again as he laid Bland by the arm. "That creature is perfectly harmless, Chief," he told the editor. "Somewhere I suppose there's a mighty dangerous kitty cat at large, but there's no sense in taking it out on this poor reptile. Let's live and let live." With a show of reluctance Bland returned Jimmie's automatic, then strode over to where lay the form of Kell. Perry and O'Hara lingered by the cage long enough to arrange a plan to let the snake out doors as soon as opportunity offered, after which they joined their Chief. Riley went out to resume his vigil in Bland's car, while his fellow sleuth prepared to light the way downstairs. Under his guidance the sick man was carried below without mishap. Downstairs the now conscious form of the venerable Professor was laid out on the ancient sofa until his senses could clear a bit. Presently the eyelids fluttered open and a feeble voice asked, "Where the deuce am I, and how did all you guys get here?" * * * * * A joyous gasp went up. That voice! Although uttered in somewhat the same vocal quality as Kell's the intonation and accents had strangely altered. O'Hara leaned eagerly over the figure on the couch. The question he asked was startling in its incongruity: "How are you feeling, _Skip_!" "Rotten," was the reply from the lips of Kell. "What hit me such a crack on the dome? I feel as if I had been dragged through a knot-hole. Lemme up." "Stay still," commanded O'Hara, kindly but firmly. "You aren't fit to move yet. You are going on a long ride and will need your strength. Don't talk, either." A half-hour later they left the house. In the front yard the editor called a hasty conclave which included the entire party. Hard Boiled Bland has never been known to talk so much at a stretch, before or since. "Before we start back," he began, "we had better come to an understanding. In the first place--Skip, come over here a minute." Norma Manion uttered an involuntary cry of fear as the aged form of Kell passed by her. Skip's instant response to his name had, of course, been perfectly natural to him. But it had an odd effect on the others. "Miss Manion, and gentlemen," Bland went on, with a bow of mock ceremony, "I want you to meet Mister--er, Mister--oh hell, call him Saunders. This is Mr. Kenneth Saunders, ladies and gentlemen. When he gets a shave and has his new face patched up I believe you will like his appearance much more than you do now.