Quest returned to his place, and they recommenced the game. Just at that moment the entrance to the tent was lifted and Laura ran in. She plumped down upon her bed with her hands on either side of her.

"If that man--" she began.

Suddenly she sprang up with a little cry which turned almost into a scream. From a look of humorous indignation, her face suddenly a.s.sumed an expression of absolute terror. She shrank away.

"There's something soft in the bed!" she shrieked. "I felt it with my hand!"

They all looked towards the cot. Quest held up the lantern. They distinctly saw a movement under the bedclothes. The Inspector, stooping down, suddenly entered the tent.

"Say, what's wrong here?" he demanded.

"There's something in Laura's bed," Quest muttered. "Here, give me the camp-stool."

He stole towards the bed, gripping the camp-stool firmly with his right hand, and slowly turning down the bedclothes with the feet of the chair.

Suddenly there was a piercing scream. A huge snake, coiled and quivering for the spring, lifted its head. Even Quest seemed for the moment nerveless. Then from the doorway came the sharp report of a revolver, and the snake fell, a limp, inert thing. They all looked at the Professor as though fascinated. He came a step farther into the tent, the revolver still smoking in his hand. Standing over the snake, he deliberately fired again and again into the body.

"I think," he remarked, in his usual calm tones, "that we may consider the creature now beyond any power of doing harm. You will be interested to hear," he continued, bending over the remains of the creature, "that this is an exceedingly rare species, a sort of second cousin to the rattlesnake found only in this part of the world and fatally poisonous."

"But how could it have got there?" Lenora faltered.

The Professor shook his head gravely.

"I am afraid," he said, "that there can be no doubt about that. I saw the Chinaman whom Laura is so fond of sneaking away from this tent a few minutes ago, and I suspected some devilry. That is why I went and fetched my revolver."

There was a roar of anger from French. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the weapon from the Professor's hand.

"I'll kill that yellow dog!" he shouted. "Where is he?"

He dashed across the open s.p.a.ce towards the camp wagon. His teeth were set, and there was murder in his blazing eyes.

"Where's that Chinaman?" he yelled at the top of his voice.

The cowboys struggled to their feet. The Chinaman, who was sitting inside the cook wagon, poring over a book by the light of a lantern, recognised the note of fury in French's tone and raised his head, startled. A paroxysm of fear seized him. The very moment that French threw open the door of the wagon, he kicked the lantern across the floor and plunged at the canvas sides of the vehicle, slipping underneath until he reached the ground. French, left in darkness, groped around for a moment and then emerged. The cowboys had gathered together outside.

"Say, Mr. Inspector French," one of them demanded, "what's wrong with John Chinaman? You folks seem to have a sort of grudge against our cooks.

What's the Oriental been doing, eh?"

"Tried to commit a filthy murder," French shouted. "Brought a snake and put it into the bed of one of the young women."

They hesitated no longer.

"Come on, boys," one of them cried. "We'll have to see this matter through."

They found the spot where the Chinaman had escaped from the wagon, but even at that moment they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs and saw a flying figure in the distance.

"Said he couldn't ride!" French shouted. "Told the young lady so when she wanted him to go and warn us of the fire. Look at him now!"

"Come on, all of you," one of the cowboys yelled, as they rushed for the horse. "Bring your lariats. We'll have him, sure."

French, with his start, was the first to reach a horse. The cowboys galloped off through the shadows. Dimly visible, they now and then caught a glimpse of their quarry; sometimes he faded out of sight altogether.

"We'll have him through that patch of brush," Long Jim shouted. "He won't dare to ride the pace there."

They saw him for a moment bending low over his horse, but they did not see him slip easily from its back, roll over into the brushwood, and lie there concealed. They heard the thunder of hoofs ahead, and they galloped by.

When they were out of sight, the Chinaman stole away into the darkness.

Nearly an hour later, the little party caught up with the riderless horse.

The language of the cowboys was picturesque.

"Spread out, boys. We'll round him up going back, if we can," Long Jim directed. "If he was spilled off, we'll get him, sure. But if the dirty coyote has tricked us and slipped off into the brush, it's good night.

We'll never find him."

French's hand tightened upon his revolver, and his eyes pierced the darkness to right and to left as he rode slowly back.

"There'll be no trial if I can get the drop on him," he muttered.

Away in the distance, John Chinaman was reaching Allguez, and the little party of cowboys rode into the camp without having seen a sign of him.

French was narrating his failure to the three others, when Quest in silence handed him a cablegram, a messenger had just brought.

To Inspector French, Allguez, N.M.

Very sorry. Craig gave us slip after leaving depot. Niece disappeared from address given. No clues at present. When are you returning?

French swore softly for a moment. Then he dropped into a chair, exhausted.

"This," he declared, "is our unlucky evening."

3.

The woman who had just laid the cloth for a homely evening meal, smiled across at the girl who stood at the window.

"It's all ready now directly your uncle comes home," she announced. "Say, you never seem to tire of looking out of that window."

The girl turned around with a smile. She was very young and dressed in deep mourning.

"I've never seen anything like it before, Mrs. Malony," she said. "It was quite quiet where we lived in London, and here, with the street cars and the elevated railways and the clanging of bells, there never seems to be a moment's peace."

Mrs. Malony came to the girl's side.

"Your poor uncle looks as though a little peace would do him good," she remarked.

The girl sighed.

"If only I could do something for him!" she murmured.

"He's in some kind of trouble, I think," Mrs. Malony observed. "He is not what you might call a communicative person, but it's easy to see that he is far from being happy in himself. You'll ring when you're ready, Miss Mary?"

The door was suddenly opened, and Craig entered. He was very pale and a little out of breath. Before he closed the door, he listened for a moment.