"Don’t you think I’ve been tempted, sir; dozens of different ways have been suggested. All seemed safe, but there was just the chance that the thing would strike somewhere—and—and—I’d seen those two die, and put off trying for another day, till now I’m almost used to it. "Look," the gunner said, pulling up his shirt sleeve and holding out his arm so that the moonlight showed the snake. "Watch its head!" and he very softly began to push one finger underneath a coil. As he did so, the head began to raise itself from his skin, and a tiny dark line, not visible before, showed across the end where the mouth was. "Stop!" we both cried, perspiration pouring from me and running down my back, the Baron’s mouth wide open with fear. "Take your finger away." And he uttered a hoarse, gasping laugh as he knew that at last we were convinced. He drew back his finger, and the head lay back again. "Now you can guess why I don’t want to come back to the Gulf. This bracelet is known to every Arab there. The Sultan of Khamia is certain to find out, sooner or later, that I have it, and then there will be an end to me. Why, sirs, he would give half his wealth to get it back, and once it becomes known that I have it he will get it somehow or other. Getting it, I must die." "Man alive," the Baron cried, "why don’t you try? A thin sheet of tin or something pushed under it, then seize the head with pincers! Why, man, it simply couldn’t bite you! There’d be no risk whatsoever." "But I can’t," Mr. Scarlett almost moaned. "I can’t face it. If anything did happen—I’ve seen those two die—remember that. It seems part of me now—thirteen years it has been there—and I’ve been brought up amongst Arabs—my mother was half an Arab, and there’s something in my blood which won’t let me try. It’s fate—Kismet—and I dare not fly in face of that." The Baron fell back in his chair hopelessly. "Then why didn’t you back out of coming here? Why didn’t you explain?" I asked. Then his manner changed again. He had come out of his dreams, and began talking hurriedly as if his lips were shaking. "Truth is, gentlemen, I’m a born coward. I was too frightened to let on that I was frightened of coming out this way again. It’s the same thing with many things I do. I’m too frightened to let on as how I’m frightened, and up to now things have gone all right. I’m a coward, sir, and I don’t mind telling you," he said, turning to me. "We have to live together for the next two years—if I’m spared—and you’ll find that out before you’ve known me many weeks, so you may as well know now. Feel my hand, sir!" I felt it. It was cold and clammy and trembling. His dark face looked a ghastly mud colour. "That’s simply because I’ve been talking about it, and it reminds me of things which have been—and might be again."