“There is no doubt about it,” he said. “Snake venom does not lose its potency by being frozen, and this method of moulding their darts was a very sane one, from their point of view. It was only necessary for a microscopic portion of the splinter to pierce the flesh. Sufficient instantly melted to cause death, and if the victim rubbed the place where he had been struck, it was more certain that he would rub some of the venom, which had melted on his cheek, into the wound. Usually they died instantly. The cigarette holders that were carried by Gurther and the other assassin, Pfeiffer, were blowpipes, the cigarette a hollow metal fake. By the time they blew their little ice darts, it was in a half-molten condition and carried sufficient liquid poison to kill, even if the skin was only punctured. And, of course, all that did not enter the skin melted before there could be any examination by the police. That is why you never found darts such as the bushmen use, slithers of bamboo, thorns from trees. Oberzohn had the simplest method of dealing with all opposition: he sent out his snake-men to intercept them, and only once did they fail—when they aimed at Leon and caught that snake-proof man, Elijah Washington!” “What about Miss Leicester’s claim to the goldfields of Biskara?” Manfred smiled. “The renewal has already been applied for and granted. Leon found at Heavytree Farm some blank sheets of note-paper signed with the girl’s name. He stole one during the aunt’s absence and filled up the blank with a formal request for renewal. I have just had a wire to say that the lease is extended.” He and Poiccart had to walk the best part of the way to New Cross before they could find a taxicab. Leon had gone on with the girl. Poiccart was worried about something, and did not speak his mind until the providential cab appeared on the scene and they were trundling along the New Cross Road. “My dear George, I am a little troubled about Leon,” he said at last. “It seems almost impossible to believe, but——” “But what?” asked Manfred good-humouredly, and knowing what was coming. “You don’t believe,” said Poiccart in a hushed voice, as though he were discussing the advent of some world cataclysm—“you don’t believe that Leon is in love, do you?” Manfred considered for a moment. “Such things happen, even to just men,” he said, and Poiccart shook his head sadly. “I have never contemplated such an unhappy contingency,” he said, and Manfred was laughing to himself all the way back to town. THE END Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London TRANSCRIBER NOTES Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.