"It's certain that he's been poisoned," said the doctor in charge of the case, "but he won't tell us how. Just lies there and glares and demands a copy of the latest newspaper. Every now and then he drifts off into delirium, but just when we think he's on the point of death he recovers." Motioning to the others to keep in the background, Preston made his way to the bedside of the dying man. Then, bending forward, he said, very clearly and distinctly: "Marshall Montgomery is dead!" Into the eyes of the other man there sprang a look of concentrated hatred that was almost tangible--a glare that turned, a moment later, into supreme relief. "Thank God!" he muttered. "Now I'm ready to die!" "Tell me," said Preston, quietly--"tell me what made you do it." "He did!" gasped the man on the bed. "He and his damned brutality. When I knew him his name was Marsh. We dug for diamonds together in South Africa--found them, too--enough to make us both rich for life. But our water was running low--barely enough for one of us. He, the skunk, hit me over the head and left me to die--taking the water and the stones with him." He paused a moment, his breath rattling in his throat, and then continued: "It took me five years to find him--but you say he's dead? You're not lying?" Preston shook his head slowly and the man on the bed settled back and closed his eyes, content. "Ask him," insisted the chief of police, "how he killed Montgomery?" In a whisper that was barely audible came the words: "Sheep-stinger. Got me first." Then his jaws clicked and there was the unmistakable gurgle which meant that the end had come. "Didn't he say 'sheep-stinger'?" asked the chief of police, after the doctor had stated that the patient had slipped away from the hands of the law. "That's what it sounded like to me," replied Preston. "But suppose we go back to Montgomery's room and see what our ghost trap has caught. I told you I expected to land a figure of Justice--and if ever a man deserved to be killed it appears to have been this same Montgomery Marshall, or Marsh, as this man knew him." The instant they entered the room it was apparent that the trap had sprung, the heavy box falling forward and completely covering the saucer of milk and whatever had disturbed the carefully balanced sticks. Warning the chief to be careful, Preston secured a poker from an adjoining room, covered the box with his automatic, and then carefully lifted the box, using the poker as a lever. A second later he brought the head of the poker down on something that writhed and twisted and then lay still, blending in with the pattern of the carpet in such a manner as to be almost invisible. "A snake!" cried the chief. "But such a tiny one! Do you mean to say that its bite is sufficiently poisonous to kill a man?"