“Kill it?” said the indignant Mr. Washington. “Why should I kill it? I saw a whole lot of doves out on the lawn this morning—should I kill ’em? No, sir! I’ve got none of those mean feelings towards snakes. I guess the Lord sent snakes into this world for some other purpose than to be chased and killed every time they’re seen. I sent him up to London to-day by train to a friend of mine at the Zoological Gardens. He’ll keep him until I’m ready to take him back home.” Meadows drew a long sigh. “As long as he’s not in your pocket,” he said. “Do you mind?” Leon’s voice was urgent as he signalled Washington to move yet farther to the left, and when the big man moved his chair, Leon nodded his thanks. His eyes were on the window and the darkening lawn. Not once did he remove his gaze. “It’s an extraordinary thing about Poole, my lawyer,” Mr. Lee was saying. “He promised faithfully he’d be at Rath by seven o’clock. What is the time?” Meadows looked at his watch. “Half-past eight,” he said. He saw the cloud that came over the face of the blind owner of Rath Hall. “It is extraordinary! I wonder if you would mind——” His foot touched a bell beneath the table and his butler came in. “Will you telephone to Mr. Poole’s house and ask if he has left?” The butler returned in a short time. “Yes, sir, Mr. Poole left the house by car at half-past six.” Johnson Lee sat back in his chair. “Half-past six? He should have been here by now.” “How far away does he live?” “About fifteen miles. I thought he might have come down from London rather late. That is extraordinary.” “He may have had tyre trouble,” said Leon, not shifting his fixed stare. “He could have telephoned.” “Did anybody know he was coming—anybody outside your own household?” asked Gonsalez. The blind man hesitated. “Yes, I mentioned the fact to the post office this morning. I went in to get my letters, and found that one I had written to Mr. Poole had been returned through a stupid mistake on my part. I told the postmaster that he was coming this evening and that there was no need to forward it.” “You were in the public part of the post office?” “I believe I was.” “You said nothing else, Mr. Lee—nothing that would give any idea of the object of this visit?” Again his host hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m almost afraid that I did,” he confessed. “I remember telling the postmaster that I was going to talk to Mr. Poole about poor Barberton—Mr. Barberton was very well known in this neighbourhood.” “That is extremely unfortunate,” said Leon. He was thinking of two things at the same time: the whereabouts of the missing lawyer, and the wonderful cover that the wall between the window and the floor gave to any man who might creep along out of sight until he got back suddenly to send the snake on its errand of death. “How many men have you got in the grounds, by the way, Meadows?”