The Four Faces | Page 9

expression in her eyes as she smiled down at us, an
expression that later I came to know too well. Then, turning, she swept
gracefully out of the room, closing the door behind her.
I looked across at Osborne. For some moments neither of us spoke. The
mysterious house was still as death.
"Well, Jack," I said lightly, though somehow I felt uneasy, "what do

you make of it, old man?"
"It is just as I thought," he answered, taking a cigar out of the box and
beginning to trim it.
"How do you mean--'just as you thought'?" I asked, puzzled.
"Gastrell is an impostor, and--and that isn't his wife."
He did not speak again for some moments, being busily occupied in
lighting his long cigar. Presently he leaned back, then blew a great
cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.
Suddenly we heard a click, like the wooden lid of a box suddenly shut.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed suddenly, "what's that?"
"What's what?"
"Why! Look!" he gasped.
His gaze was set upon something in the shadow of a small table in a
corner of the room--something on the floor. In silence, now, we both
stood staring at it, for Osborne had risen suddenly. Slowly it moved. It
was gradually gliding along the floor, with a sound like paper being
pushed along a carpet. Whence it came, where it began and where it
ended, we could not see, for the shadow it was in was very deep. Nor
was its colour in the least discernible.
All we could make out was that some long, sinuous, apparently endless
Thing was passing along the room, close to the wall farthest from us,
coming from under the sofa and disappearing beneath the table.
All at once Osborne sprang towards me with an exclamation of alarm,
and I felt his grip tighten upon my arm.
"Good God!" he cried.
An instant later a broad, flat head slowly reared itself from beneath the

red table-cover which hung down almost to the floor, rose higher and
higher until the black, beady, merciless eyes were set upon mine, and in
that brief instant of supreme suspense my attention became riveted on
the strange, slate-grey mark between and just behind the reptile's cruel
eyes. Then, as its head suddenly shot back, Osborne dashed towards the
door.
Once, twice, three times he pulled frantically at the handle with all his
force.
"Good God! Berrington," he cried, his face blanched to the lips, "we're
locked in!"
Almost as he spoke, the serpent with head extended swept forward
towards us, along the floor.
I held my breath. Escape from its venomous fangs was impossible.
We had been trapped!
CHAPTER III
A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY
With a shriek of alarm I leapt to the further side of the table which
stood in the middle of the room, and at that moment hurried footsteps
became audible.
Our wild shouts for help had evidently been heard, for someone was
hurrying down the bare oak stairs into the hall.
"Hang this confounded lock--it catches!" we heard a voice exclaim as
the handle turned. Then an instant later the door was flung open, and
Gastrell stood before us.
"I am dreadfully sorry, you fellows," he said apologetically, "that you
should have been alarmed in this way, because I can assure you that my
tame cobra, 'Maharaja,' is quite harmless--look at him now," and we

saw that the horrid reptile had swung round the instant its master had
entered, and was sliding towards his feet. "He's a pet of mine--I brought
him home with me, and he follows me like a dog--no, you needn't be in
the least nervous," he added quickly, seeing that I instinctively edged
away as the reptile passed. "I'm awfully sorry to have kept you waiting.
I must apologize, too, for that confounded door--I myself got locked in
here the other day. My wife told you I was out, but I was not. I came in
by the side door, and she didn't know I was back, because I went
straight upstairs. If you'll wait a moment I'll take our friend 'Maharaja'
out."
He left the room, and the snake slid rapidly along the floor after him,
almost, as he had said, like a dog following his steps.
"A nice cheerful pet to keep," I remarked, annoyed at my experience;
but at that moment the mysterious Gastrell bustled in alone.
"So sorry," he said, and, after thanking us for coming out so far to
ascertain if he had lost his purse, he pulled up a chair, seated himself
between us, lit a big cigar, and helped us to whiskey from a silver
tantalus.
"You had better add the soda yourselves," he said. "And now there is
something I want to say to you both. You must have been surprised