“I stood staring after them.  I didn’t know what to do.  I felt like a madman myself.  I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts.  I saw that some new plan must be made—­that there was no hope of meeting Marjorie again.  I was sick with fear for her; I thought of following to the house and compelling her to come with me at once.  And then, suddenly, I saw two eyes gleaming at me.  They were not human eyes—­they were too close together—­and they were swaying gently back and forth in the air, about a foot from the ground.  I gazed at them, fascinated, and then I heard a soft, low whistle, followed by a faint hissing, as the eyes fell forward.

“In a flash, I knew what it was—­the cobra; I knew why it was there—­Vaughan had said my life was forfeit.  I sprang up with a shriek, dashed along the seat to the door and out into the darkness.  I struck my head against something—­a tree, I suppose; but I kept on, and reached the wall and got over it somehow—­it is all confused, after that.  I seem to remember hearing Marjorie scream, and finding her lying beside her father, who was dead—­but I can’t put things together,” and he rubbed his head helplessly.

“I’ll put them together for you,” said Godfrey.  “When you ran into the tree, you suffered a partial concussion.  It’s lucky it wasn’t total, or Toto would have got you!”

“Toto?”

“That, I believe, is the cobra’s name,” explained Godfrey, with a smile; “unless, of course, there are two of them.”  And he told Swain in detail of the events which had followed.

Swain listened with staring eyes.  I did not blame him.  Indeed, I felt that my own eyes were staring a little, though I already knew the story.  But Godfrey, with a gift of narration born of long newspaper experience, told it in a way that made its horror salient and left one gasping.

“There is one question I want to ask you, Swain,” he said, in conclusion, “and I want you to think carefully before you answer it.  During your altercation with Mr. Vaughan, did you at any time touch him?”

“Touch him?  No, of course not,” and Swain shook his head decidedly.

“You are sure of that?” asked Godfrey earnestly.

“Perfectly sure,” said Swain, looking at him in astonishment.  “I was never within three feet of him.”

Godfrey sprang to his feet with a gesture of relief.

“I seem to need a cocktail,” he said, in another tone.  “Isn’t that the prescription for all of us, doctor?”

“Yes,” assented Hinman, smiling, “and, after that, complete change of subject!”

CHAPTER XII

GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE

We tried to follow Dr. Hinman’s prescription, but not with any great success, for it is difficult to talk about one thing and think about another.  So the doctor took himself off, before long, and Swain announced that he himself would have to return to the city.  He had come out without so much as a tooth-brush, he pointed out; his trousers were in a lamentable condition, and, while Godfrey’s coat was welcome, it was far from a perfect fit.