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ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and
you in that chair.
I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.
Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed
beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle.
Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.
How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound,
not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat
open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous
tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of
light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our
very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah
was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the
parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they
seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and
still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.
Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction
of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a
strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room
had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then
all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an
hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became
audible—a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of
steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it,
Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with
his cane at the bell-pull.
“You see it, Watson? he yelled. “You see it?
But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a
low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes
made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed
so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and
filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and was gazing
up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the
night the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled
up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all
mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the
village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the
sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood
gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died
away into the silence from which it rose.
“What can it mean? I gasped.
“It means that it is all over, Holmes answered. “And perhaps, after
all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr.
Roylott’s room.
With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor.
Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then
he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked
pistol in my hand.
It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a
dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of
light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this
table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long
grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet
thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short
stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin
was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at
the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow
band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round
his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.
“The band! the speckled band! whispered Holmes.
I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to
move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat
diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
“It is a swamp adder! cried Holmes; “the deadliest snake in India. He
has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth,
recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he
digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we
can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county
police know what has happened.
As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and
throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck he drew it from its horrid
perch and, carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe,
which he closed upon it.
Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke
Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has
already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news
to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the
care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official
inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while
indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet
to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled
back next day.