“Come in, Pfeiffer. March!” The door opened slowly and a man sidled into the room, and at the sight of him Dr. Oberzohn gasped. “Gurther!” he stammered, for once thrown out of his stride. Gurther smiled and nodded, his round eyes fixed on the tassel of the Herr Doktor’s smoking-cap. “You have returned—and failed?” “The American, I think, is dead, Herr Doktor,” said the man in his staccato tone. “The so excellent Pfeiffer is also—dead!” The doctor blinked twice. “Dead?” he said gratingly. “Who told you this?” “I saw him. Something happened . . . to the snake. Pfeiffer was bitten.” The old man’s hard eyes fixed him. “So!” he said softly. “He died very quickly—in the usual manner,” jerked Gurther, still with that stupid smile. “So!” said the doctor again. “All then was failure, and out of it comes an American, who is nothing, and Pfeiffer, who is much—dead!” “God have him in his keeping!” said Gurther, not lowering or raising his eyes. “And all the way back I thought this, Herr Doktor—how much better that it should be Pfeiffer and not me. Though my nerves are so bad.” “So!” said the doctor for the fourth time, and held out his hand. Gurther slipped his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and took out a gold cigarette-case. The doctor opened it and looked at the five cigarettes that reposed, at the two halves of the long holder neatly lying in their proper place, closed the case with a snap and laid it on the table. “What shall I do with you, Gurther? To-morrow the police will come and search this house.” “There is the cellar, Herr Doktor: it is very comfortable there. I would prefer it.” Dr. Oberzohn made a gesture like a boy wiping something from a slate. “That is not possible: it is in occupation,” he said. “I must find a new place for you.” He stared and mused. “There is the boat,” he said. Gurther’s smile did not fade. The boat was a small barge, which had been drawn up into the private dock of the O. & S. factory, and had been rotting there for years, the playing-ground of rats, the doss-house of the homeless. The doctor saw what was in the man’s mind. “It may be comfortable. I will give you some gas to kill the rats, and it will only be for five-six days.” “Ja, Herr Doktor.” “For to-night you may sleep in the kitchen. One does not expect——” There was a thunderous knock on the outer door. The two men looked at one another, but still Gurther grinned. “I think it is the police,” said the doctor calmly. He got up to his feet, lifted the seat of a long hard-looking sofa, disclosing a deep cavity, and Gurther slipped in, and the seat was replaced. This done, the doctor waddled to the door and turned the key. “Good morning, Inspector Meadows.” “May I come in?” said Meadows. Behind him were two police officers, one in uniform. “Do you wish to see me? Certainly.” He held the door cautiously open and only Meadows came in, and preceded the doctor into his study.