Just at that time Chick Carter, in the overalls and blouse of a scene shifter, made his first pertinent discovery—­that Rufus Venner, clad in immaculate evening dress, and carrying an Inverness topcoat on his arm, had arrived upon the stage.

“He seems to be at home behind the scenes,” soliloquized Chick, furtively watching him.  “Evidently he has some kind of a pull with the manager, or he could not get admission to the stage.  Probably through his friend, the Spanish senora.”

Venner was then in one of the left wings, apparently indulging in small talk with a handsome girl of about twenty, who had just finished her turn upon the stage.  She was rather simply clad, but was strikingly pretty and modest appearing; and upon consulting a program with which he had provided himself, Chick learned that her stage name was Violet Marduke; and that she was cast as a singer of ballads.

“Evidently employed to fill in,” thought Chick, who had not been much impressed with her songs, though he decided that the girl herself was a beauty.  “And by his admiring glances, Venner also thinks pretty well of her,” Chick mentally added.

“Room here, mister,” growled a voice at his elbow.  “Make room for the reptiles.”

Chick turned quickly about, and then involuntarily recoiled from the startling object that met his gaze.

In front of a scene then set in the second grooves of the Stage, the continuous performance was still in progress.  Meantime, several of the stage hands were wheeling to the center of the stage, back of the scene, the properties of the next performer on the program—­and grewsome properties they were.

The object beheld by Chick was a huge, cagelike den, mounted on low wheels, and having a broad front of plate glass.  Inside of this den were several wicker baskets, some of which were open, while others were covered and locked.

In the open baskets, or writhing freely about the floor of the den, were fully fifty serpents of various sizes, many being only a foot or two long, while several were as many yards in length.

A more repulsive and blood-curdling sight Chick had never experienced, and the stage hand who had asked him to move laughed at his look of mingled horror and repugnance.

“Ever seen any like ’em after a jamboree?” he inquired, good-naturedly.

“Well, hardly,” said Chick, subduing his aversion.  “If I were to go on a drunk and see anything like them, I’d sign the pledge the next morning.”

“A good scheme, too.”

“I should say so.”

“Some o’ the crawling divils are as bad as they look,” added the stage hand, while he helped to place the snake den squarely on the stage.

“What do you mean?” inquired Chick, still gingerly surveying them.

“Pizen!”

“Venomous?”

“You bet!  Durn ’em, I wouldn’t touch one of them for the wealth of Rockefeller.”