Page:Weird Tales Volume 27 Number 02 (1936-02).djvu/7

"So?" Vroom was playing with his pointed beard. "Tough, eh? I—and my pet—can make the hardest turn gentle. Ask Cariaco."

Barry shuddered. But he was not to be bluffed. He hadn’t been on the force long. But he knew the fear inspired by the shield he wore, and his uniform. He knew better than to let himself be placed on the defensive. So long as he represented the law, he must for ever take the aggressive, carry the battle to the other fellow, never admit he was licked. Hard to do, when one was bound hand and foot, but not wholly impossible.

"Man, why did you murder Trehearne?" he demanded commandingly.

"Murder?"

Vroom's voice sounded now like a cat's purr.

"Murder? My dear officer—you witnessed it yourself. The serpent killed Trehearne, not I!"

"You made no move to halt it!" Barry burst out impetuously, and shuddered.

“You could have saved him, man. And you didn't!"

Vroom shrugged.

"Opinion, my dear officer—merely a matter of your opinion. Cariaco and I will swear we did our utmost to save my dear friend and patron, Salisbury Trehearne."

"Man alive!" Barry gave a noticeable start. "Now I remember. I read it in the papers. He was going to finance your expedition to Samarkand or Timbuctoo or somewhere."

"To the headwaters of the Orinoco and Amazon," Vroom corrected with an evil grin; "whence came our silvery pet, who so unfortunately escaped from his cage just now. So. You know a lot for an ordinary police officer—perhaps too much."

"I know Trehearne left you a half-million dollars in his will, to finance future expeditions!" Barry burst forth impetuously. "I read it in the papers."

The zoologist fingered his Vandyke beard. His colorless eyes narrowed to mere slits as he gazed speculatively at his prisoner.

"Too much," he mused. "You know too much, my friend—too much!"

He turned to the little monkey-like servant. "The doors, Cariaco. See that none of this policeman's companions are outside. So!"

Cariaco bobbed like a jumping-jack. "Si, si, Jefe!"

"A marvelous servant, Cariaco," said Vroom. "Always does as he is told. Never talks too much. In fact, it was from him I first procured the secret of the silver serpent. A full-blooded Oñote Indian, is Cariaco, though they say the race is extinct."

Barry was straining at his bonds. They would not give an inch. He was in a tough spot, and he knew it. He decided his best course was to stall for time. Thing to do was to keep this pot-bellied little fiend in evening clothes talking until—well, until something happened.

"The secret of the silver serpent?" he prompted.

Vroom pursed his lips, frowned, fingered his pointed beard.

"Twill do no harm," he muttered, to himself. "Because, within half an hour——"

He chopped off his sentence suddenly, and began another.

"I am a zoologist. You know what is a zoologist?"

"Sure. A guy that works for the zoo."

Vroom smiled. "So? Sometimes, yes. I was on an expedition to the interior of Venezuela when I met Cariaco. I was seeking some specimens of the huge anaconda, among other reptilia, and——"