Page:Weird Tales Volume 27 Number 02 (1936-02).djvu/5

His eyes, so pale they were almost colorless, were opened wide. Thin lips were drawn back from white teeth. Oddly enough, despite his pot-paunch, Vroom's cheeks were sunken, almost haggard. He spat:

"So! Trehearne, you played for time—too long!"

Vroom was unarmed. At the moment, he seemed in the grip of some sort of hypnosis, for he evidenced no fear of the officer or his weapon.

Barry trained his pistol on the squirming, twisting, silvery folds of the monster reptile. But the instant he was ready to fire, the serpent had twisted with its prey. The steel-jacketed bullet would have pierced Trehearne's body, as well as the serpent's.

Barry dared not fire. The silvery anaconda's head was arched, weaving back and forth in front of Trehearne's eyes. Barry saw its powerful folds constrict.

An explosive gasp came from Trehearne's mouth as the last bit of breath was squeezed from his lungs. Barry heard two or three short, sharp little reports, as of twigs snapping. He knew it was the bones of Trehearne's pinioned arm, and perhaps his ribs, breaking under the terrific pressure.

Suddenly Trehearne went limp. His jaw sagged, his head fell lolling back. His free arm dangled loose. His knees buckled. Serpent and man plopped to the floor.

Barry whirled on the zoologist.

"You—you devil!" he exploded. "Get that—that thing off of Trehearne—man, do you hear me?—before I kill you!"

He leveled his automatic. From the corner of his eye he could see the jaws of the monstrous silver serpent distending—distending tremendously. He had read that such reptiles could swallow an ox easily. He shuddered. Was this fearful reptile about to——

Cloxton Vroom went white. He leaped sidewise, behind a huge, Indian pottery vase. His colorless eyes shot past Barry. They rested upon the little, brown, monkey-like man behind the door.

"Cariaco!" he bleated appealingly. "Kill him, Cariaco!"

The little monkey-man snatched a machete from the wall. He bounded toward Barry like a spider-monkey leaping from tree to tree.

Barry whirled, just as the machete descended. Primal instinct led him to throw up his arm to protect himself, rather than to send a bullet into the little brown man.

Cariaco's arm glanced off the patrolman's. Instead of the edge, the flat of the blade descended glancingly, shearing away Barry's cap and striking him upon the skull.

The pistol dropped from his fingers. He pitched forward upon the thick carpet. He was still semi-conscious, but the blow from the machete had sapped his strength. Through the ringing in his ears he could hear Vroom saying:

"So! It is well, Cariaco! . . . Tie him up, so! Swiftly, swiftly, Cariaco, while I drive this beast back to its cage!"

Barry was conscious that the little monkey-like brown man was lashing his ankles and wrists. He tried to struggle, but his sinews refused to respond to the lash of his will. He was dazed, partly unconscious, and incapable of protecting himself.

He could hear the tap of Vroom's high heels as the pot-bellied zoologist sped into the library. And then, a moment later, shouts and stamping.

"Back! . . . Away, you demon from hell! . . . Back to your cage, you silver rascal! . . . So! You would, would you? Take that!"

Barry's brain was beginning to clear. He opened his eyes. He was on his back. On a stand just above him he saw a de-