FIVE FEET OF DEATH 
by JACK STORM 


Johnathan Hamer lay in the rain and mud by the roadside, dead from the fatal 
bite of a fer-de-lance. But why was Joe Stanley certain that this was murder?


Joe Stanley left his stalled coupe and walked along the muddy road through the rain-swept 
night. Wind-driven water beat against his raincoat and spattered his face. He hunched his 
lanky body and muttered his opinion of any man who would call a private detective out on a 
night like this.

	The Hamer Snake Farm should he along here somewhere. Johnathan Hamer had said over the 
telephone that the place was two miles from the highway on the old Waverly Road. Stanley had 
driven almost two miles on the muddy road through the waning storm before the rain shorted 
the ignition and stalled his coupe. He would have waited for another car to come along, but he 
had promised to meet Johnathan Hamer at eight o'clock. It was about eight, now.

	Hamer had mentioned a thousand-dollar fee for handling a confidential matter. Stanley could 
use the thousand very nicely.

	Sliding in the mud, he dug a flashlight from his raincoat pocket. The light showed slanting 
rain, the muddy road and drenched trees beyond the drainage ditch on either side. He swore and 
turned the flashlight beam down, pointing it toward his feet.

	Mud had balled about his shoes until each weighed pounds. The shoulders of his coat were 
wet beneath the raincoat. His trousers were soaked to the knees and his brown felt hat was a 
soggy wreck. He was disgusted and angry, but he kept thinking about that thousand-dollar fee.

	Skidding, he made another fifty steps, then searched the sides of the road with the 
flashlight beam. A pleased grunt escaped him and some of the anger went out of his brown eyes.

	The light showed two red brick pillars a short distance ahead and to the left. The pillars 
flanked a pair of half-open iron gates. A driveway crossed an earthen fill in the drainage ditch, 
went in between the brick pillars and disappeared in the dark bulk of trees and shrubbery beyond 
the gates.

	Moving faster, Stanley headed for the gates, the flashlight beam jerking around as he 
skidded in the mud. He made a few steps and the swinging light swept the driveway fill from 
left to right. He saw the figure of a man lying on the wet earth along the right edge of the 
driveway.

	He stopped walking, his lanky body stiffening. Steadying the light, he held it on the man 
on the ground. The man did not move. Raindrops spattering against him made silvery splashes 
in the light.

	Stanley swallowed. He went on and stopped about ten feet from the man on the ground. He 
licked at the rain on his lips, and his eyes swiveled.

	A tall iron fence with a spiked top stretched out into the wet darkness on his right, fol-
lowing the ditch bank. To his left, the fence followed the ditch £or about twenty feet, then 
angled back into the drenched woods. There was a small enameled sign fastened to the brick pillar 
to the right of the gates. The sign read:

						HAMER SNAKE FARM

	Stanley's cheeks were rigid and his eyes were hard and bright as he crossed the fill and 
looked down at the man on the ground.

	The man appeared to be about forty years old, short and stout. He was lying on his back. He 
was wearing a shower coat, a wet tan suit and muddy shoes. A soaked tan felt hat was on the 
ground near his head. His stocky body was twisted. The eyes were wide and staring, almost 
bulging from their sockets. Stanley decided the eyes were blue, but he wasn't sure because of 
the blood. The blood seemed to have come from the edges of the eyelids, which still bled a 
little, sluggishly, though there were no marks of wounds on them.

	The man's hair was long and tow-colored and swept straight back from his forehead in a 
pompadour. His small, full-lipped mouth was open, the tongue showing, dark and swollen. His 
whole face was puffy and bloated, and there was a discolored spot on his chin. The spot looked 
like a bruise.

	Virtually forcing himself to move, Stanley squatted beside the man and touched the right 
side of his throat, feeling for a pulse which he did not expect to find. He was right. There 
was no pulse, but the flesh was warm to his touch. The man had not been dead long, certainly 
not much over fifteen minutes. Stanley had no idea who the dead man was, but he intended to 
find out, right away.

	Gingerly, he slid a long-fingered hand under the raincoat, feeling for the breast pocket of 
the man's suit. He touched the edges of letters and drew them out into the glow of his flashlight. 
There were three of the letters and all addressed to Johnathan Hamer, Hamer Snake Farm,

	Damp brown hair seemed to lift under Stanley's soaked hat. Moisture that wasn't all rain 
beaded out on his lean, tense features. He had met his client--dead. Fleetingly, Stanley 
thought of the thousand-dollar fee then his mind was filled with other thoughts.

	There were two tiny marks on the left side of Johnathan Hamer's throat, beneath the ear. 
The marks were two small punctures in the skin, somewhat less than an inch apart. The flesh 
about them was discolored.

	Stanley replaced the letters, his mouth pulled into a hard grim line, and a muscle started 
jumping in his throat.

	The marks on Johnathan Hamer's neck had been made by small, close-spaced fangs. Johnathan 
Hamer had apparently been bitten by a poisonous snake.

	Nerves taut, Stanley straightened quickly as he thought of the snake being near the body. 
The moving beam of his flashlight struck something in the mud near Hamer's hat, something that 
glittered. Warily, he picked the thing from the mud.

	Raking some of the mud away with his fingers, Stanley held the thing in the flashlight beam. 
Beating rain washed more of the mud away, and he saw that it was a lady's gold powder compact. 
In the center of the cover was an enamel flower-bordered medallion, its smooth gold surface 
engraved with the name:

								ALMA

	Scowling thoughtfully, Stanley dropped the compact into his raincoat pocket and swung the 
flashlight over the surface of the driveway.

	The light showed a few tracks that seemed to have been made by men's shoes. The rain was 
rapidly beating them into nothingness. There didn't appear to be any marks of a woman's shoes 
anywhere on the driveway fill.

	Stanley grunted. His scowl deepened.

	Covering the dead man's face with the soaked tan felt hat, he turned and went through the 
iron gates into the Hamer grounds. His left hand was tense, ready to whip the flashlight in any 
direction. His right hand held the heavy automatic that had been holstered under his left arm. 
His finger was on the trigger of the weapon and the safety was off.

	If the snake that had bitten Johnathan Hamer to death was near, Joe Stanley intended to get 
in the first lick. He didn't like snakes.


Walking carefully, he watched the surface of the driveway, and kept well away from the shrub-
bery border on either side. There were tracks of a man's shoes in the mud of the drive, but 
the rain had all but washed them away. They were headed away from the gates, as far as Stanley 
could tell.

	Rain spattering his face, he followed the curving driveway deeper into the Hamer grounds. 
Water dribbled in a crystal curtain from the warped brim of his hat. Raindrops rustled in the 
thick shrubbery on either side of the drive.

	The dark hulk of the house loomed ahead as he turned another curve in the drive. There was 
a ragged flanking of shrubbery and trees about the house. Three front windows on the lower 
floor were lighted, the glow spilling out onto the front porch. The second floor and the rest 
of the windows on the first floor were dark.

	Leaving the driveway for a narrow earthen walk that cut through a lawn, Stanley headed for 
the house. As he followed the walk, he saw that there were no footprints on its wet surface.

	He reached the house, and, scraping the worst of the mud from his shoes on the brick steps, 
went up to the tiled front porch. He holstered his gun and punched the doorbell with a stiff 
finger.


After a few moments, the door was opened by a short, stout man. The man appeared to be about 
forty years old and his long tow-colored hair was swept back from his forehead in a pompadour. 
The eyes were blue and slightly bulging.

	Stanley b}inked.

	The man in the doorway was a startling double of the corpse which sprawled in the rain near 
the entrance gates.

	"You're Johnathan Hamer's brother?" Stanley made it more of a statement than a question.

	"Yes, I am Ralph Hamer, Johnathan's brother." The man spoke precisely. His eyes took in 
Stanley's muddy shoes. dripping raincoat and soggy hat. "You wished to speak to Johnathan?"

	"Not now," Joe Stanley said grimly and stepped into the brightly lighted hallway.

	Ralph Hamer moved back, out of his way, frowning a little.

	"May I ask who--" he started.

	"Joe Stanley, private detective. Johnathan Hamer called me to come out here at eight 
o'clock tonight. My car drowned out, and I walked the last mile or two." Stanley looked about 
the hallway, frowning, thinking of just how he was going to tell Ralph Hamer that his brother 
was dead.

	Ahead and slightly to his right, a broad, carpeted stairway rose to the second floor of 
the house. To his left, an archway opened into a large living room. There was a field-stone 
fireplace at the end of the room; and some sort of savage shield beneath two spears, tented 
in an inverted V, hung on the wall above it.

	A dark-haired man of about thirty-five and a slender young woman of about twenty sat on a 
leather lounge near the fireplace. The overhead lights made the young woman's blond hair 
shimmer. A slim, tall man in dark clothing stood beside the lounge. The three were talking 
and seemingly paid no attention to Ralph Hamer and Stanley.

	"Johnathan isn't in the house at the moment, Mr. Stanley." Ralph Hamer smiled and made a 
little gesture with a pudgy right hand. "He went out to see about our snakes--the storm, you 
know. Johnathan and I raise poisonous snakes for their venom.'

	Stanley nodded.

	"Yes, I know. Your brother--"

	"The venom we extract from the snakes here," Ralph Hamer cut in, talking rapidly, nervously, 
"is used to compound an antivenom in a laboratory upstate. We haven't the facilities for making 
the antivenom here. We are experimenting now with coral snakes, trying to produce a venom com-
parable to that of the cobra. They are very similar, you know. The venom is neurotoxic and is 
used in the treatment of chronic arthritis, cancer, angina pectoris and other troubles. The 
venom of the rattlesnake, moccasin and the fer-de-lance, on the other hand, is hemotoxic. It 
practically turns the blood to water. The fer-de-lance venom sometimes causes bleeding about 
the eyelids and--"

	Joe Stanley stiffened. Johnathan Hamer's eyelids had been bleeding.

	"You have a fer-de-lance here?" he asked abruptly.

	"Oh, yes." Ralph Hamer nodded vigorously. His pudgy fingers laced nervously. "We have one 
fer-de-lance here, along with a number of rattlesnakes, copperheads, and coral snakes. The 
fer-de-lance is a South American--"

	"Could the fer-de-lance get out of its cage, or whatever you keep it in ?" Joe Stanley's 
eyes were gleaming.

	"No, You need have no fear of that." Ralph Hamer smiled tolerantly. "All of our snakes 
are kept in scientifically designed enclosures, some distance back of the house. There are 
small, domed, concrete shelters in the enclosures. The single fer-de-lance is kept in a small 
enclosure of its own. We hope to obtain others eventually. The fer-de-lance is active at 
night, being more or less nocturnal, and it does not attempt to climb very much.

	"Would one strike a person in the throat?" Stanley asked that softly. His mind was churning.

	"Oh, no. It would be impossible unless the victim were Iying down, or the fer-de-lance 
were upon an elevation. The fer-de-lance seldom strikes as high as the knee. In fact, most 
of the Western Hemisphere snakes strike low. For that reason, the importation of the mungoose 
to eradicate poisonous snakes in Central and South America was a failure. The mungoose, you 
know, handles the cobra very easily, but the cobra erects a portion of its body and strikes 
high. The mungoose--"

	Ralph Hamer stopped talking as the two men in the living room left the young woman on the 
lounge and came into the hall.

	"You have any idea why your brother wanted me to come here tonight?" Stanley asked quickly, 
before the two men came close.

	"I'm sorry. I don't." Ralph Hamer frowned and turned as the two men came nearer. "Davis, 
this is Mr. Stanley, a private detective. Davis, Mr. Stanley, is Johnathan's secretary." Hamer 
nodded toward the tall man, whom Stanley estimated to be about thirty.

	Hamer moved his head toward the older, heavier man.

	"William Cathcutt, Mr. Stanley. William is my sister's fiance. Alma is in the living room. 
She and William plan to marry--" Ralph Hamer stopped, confused. "I...perhaps I'd better call 
Johnathan." He moved as though to leave the hall.

	"Wait a minute!" Stanley's voice was pitched to reach the three men only. "Something has 
happened. Johnathan Hamer is down by the entrance gates. He seems to have been bitten by a 
fer-de-lance. His eyelids had been bleeding."


Stanley watched the three men before him. They stared at him.

	Davis' thin face was very pale in the hall light. His slim figure was twitching nervously,

	Husky, broad-shouldered Cathcutt stood motionless. His dark eyes met Stanley's steadily.

	Ralph Hamer's mouth was slightly open. He seemed stunned as he stared at Stanley.

	The detective's eyes flicked to the blond young woman in the living room, His right hand 
went instinctively to the gold compact bulging slightly in his raincoat pocket. The compact 
undoubtedly belonged to Alma Hamer; yet he had found the thing near the body of her dead 
brother. The compact could have been lost many hours ago, but--

	Joe Stanley's teeth came together with an audible click. The gleam in his eyes became 
brighter.

	"And I have reasons to believe," he added grimly, "that Johnathan Hamer's death was no 
accident!"

	"It...it's impossible. None of the snakes could have escaped. Nothing could have happened 
to Johnathan. I...I don't understand." Ralph Hamer's eyes seemed to bulge even more.

	Cathcutt stood rigidly, his dark eyes probing Stanley. Davis' tall figure stirred nervously 
and he made a low, whimpering sound. His thin features were paler and his eyes held terror.

	"I don't believe I understand either, Stanley." Cathcutt's voice was deep and steady. "Do 
you mean that Johnathan was murdered by a snake bite."

	"I'm afraid that's it, the way things look now." Stanley was scowling. His mind was churning. 
"That being the case, the police will have to take over. If you will show me the telephone--"

	"The telephone was put out of order by the storm," Cathcutt said. "Alma--Miss Hamer--tried 
to use it just after the storm came."

	"All right, I'll take over until we can get the sheriff here. Johnathan Hamer was my 
client. Have all of you been in the house for the last hour or two?"

	He directed the question at Cathcutt, but Ralph Hamer answered. Hamer spoke as though 
reciting, without expression.

	"No. All of us have been in and out. I have been out several times. I seldom remain still 
more than a few minutes anywhere. Johnathan has been out for a long time, over an hour. William 
has been upstairs in his room almost all afternoon and evening. He came down just a few minutes 
before you arrived and went out on the porch. Davis went out to check storm damage not long 
before you came. Alma went out to see about her saddle horse just after the worst of the storm. 
If Johnathan was murdered, any one of us--"

	"Take it easy, Ralph." Cathcutt stepped closer to Hamer, frowning. "This is pretty much of 
a shock to all of us, but--"

	"I am going to Johnathan!" Ralph Hamer said flatly.

	Moving as though dazed, he walked past Stanley toward the front door. He reached the door, 
and, without speaking or turning, he went out into the night. Davis whimpered again as the door 
clicked shut. Cathcutt moved as though to follow Hamer.

	"Let him go," Stanley said sharply.

	Cathcutt shrugged, stopped.

	"Get to a telephone somewhere, Cathcutt," the detective ordered brusquely, "and call the 
sheriff's office. Give my name and tell them to get a couple of men up here as fast as they 
can. Any objections?"

	"None at all." Cathcutt's broad shoulders lifted again. "I'll have Sam, the cook, take 
Alma's horse and go to the Chambers'. They're about two miles away by bridle path through the 
woods, and it's almost five by the road. That should be quicker than sending a car. I'll be 
back in a few minutes."


Davis whimpered again. He was standing beside Stanley, his thin figure jerking badly.

	"I'd like to have a look at the fer-de-lance enclosure before Cathcutt gets back, Davis." 
Stanley touched the tall secretary's shoulder; he felt him shaking.

	Davis' white face twitched.

	"Is anything wrong?"

	The low, hesitant voice pulled Stanley around. Alma Hamer had left the living room and was 
standing in the archway. Rouge made islands of color against the pallor of her skin. Her blue 
eyes were very bright with fear.

	"Miss Alma, some of the snakes have escaped!" Terror blurred Davis' shrill words. "They've 
killed Mr. Johnathan ! They--"

	"It would be best for you to go to your room, Miss Hamer," Stanley said gently. "We will 
do everything that we can, of course." His mouth straightened as he touched the bulk of the 
gold compact in his raincoat pocket, the compact engraved with the name Alma.

	"Do that, Alma! Hurry!" Davis chattered shrilly. "Keep your door shut! The snakes might 
get into the house! They--"

	Alma Hamer started crying suddenly. She turned and ran blindly up the stairway toward the 
second floor, her light blue skirt flying about slim silken legs. Stanley heard her heels in 
the upper hall. A door closed.


"Come on, Davis "

	Almost savagely. Stanley caught the secretary's arm and all but dragged him out on the 
porch. The rain had stopped. They left the porch and followed a narrow earthen pathway leading 
around the side of the house. Stanley's flashlight beam washed the pathway before them. His 
right hand was buried in his raincoat pocket, gripping the butt of the automatic which he had 
taken from its shoulder holster. If the fer-de-lance that had bitten Johnathan Hamer was loose 
in the Hamer grounds--

	"How long have you been with the Hamer's?" he growled at the tall secretary beside him.

	"T-Two years." Davis gulped loudly. "Shortly after Mr. Johnathan started the snake farm. 
He and Mr. Ralph thought it would prove profitable, but it hasn't. It has cost much more than 
it will ever make. But that doesn't--didn't--worry Mr, Johnathan. He could afford anything he 
enjoyed, and he did enjoy working with snakes."

	Davis voice jumped a note. There was a hint of hysteria in his shrill tones,

	"Snakes! I hate them! If I could find another job, I wouldn't--' He stopped, abruptly. 
"I...I'm overwrought. I just don't like snakes, and having them around me all the time--"

	Davis drew a shuddery breath, They passed a low, glass hothouse.

	"Mr. Johnathan's orchid house." Davis explained shakily. "He enjoyed puttering around with 
orchids. The snake enclosures are a short distance ahead. behind the shrubbery."

	"How about Cathcutt," Stanley broke in. "Has he known Alma Hamer long? What does he do? 
When do they plan to get married?"

	"Mr. Cathcutt met Miss Alma at a resort in Florida last winter. I understand that he's 
some sort of an engineer. Miss Alma had invited him here once before for a few days. He's been 
here three weeks. now. I think he and Miss Alma plan to get married sometime this fall, perhaps 
sooner." Davis stopped walking.

	"Who extracts the venom from the snakes here?" Stanley asked quickly.

	"Mr. Ralph and Mr. Johnathan." Davis shuddered. "Mr. Johnathan practically forced me to 
watch them most of the time and keep records of the type and amount of the venom extracted. 
They used an implement somewhat like a forked stick to pin the snake's head down, then caught 
its head in their hand and pressed its fangs over the edge of a glass vessel," Davis gulped 
again. "Mr. Cathcutt has helped them once or twice, with the rattlesnakes, but Mr. Johnathan 
didn't like him at all."

	Stanley moved on alone the pathway. Davis followed, reluctantly.

	"If you don't mind, Mr. Stanley, I...I'll wait here," the secretary stammered. "I can't go 
any closer to the snakes. I...I just can't. The fer-de-lance enclosure is the small one, 
nearest the house. I...I--Oh, look! The fer-de-lance!"

	Davis stopped moving, his tall body freezing rigid, one long arm lifted, the finger pointing 
toward something on the pathway.

	Stanley centered the thing in his light, and cold sweat started crawling down his back. He 
could feel his stomach muscles snap taut.

	The thing was a snake about five feet long. It was Iying on the pathway, the spear-shaped 
head toward them. It looked something like the pictures Stanley had seen of rattlesnakes. But 
there was a black stripe running from the eyes to the neck.

	Davis shrilled a whimpering cry, then turned and ran back toward the Hamer house. Short 
brown hair lifted on Stanley's neck as he realized that he was left alone, but that feeling 
left him quickly. Holding the light trained on the snake, he slipped the gun from his pocket.

	Stanley watched it for a moment, holding it in the light, but the snake remained motionless. 
Quickly, the detective stripped a small branch from a nearby shrub and tossed it toward the snake. 
The branch hit the reptile's head and rolled to one side, but still the snake did not move.

	Slowly, Stanley moved forward, his gun ready. A quick snatch and he had the broken branch 
of shrubbery. With it, he prodded the snake, and grunted when it moved only with the prodding. 
Rolling it over on its back with the branch, he eased closer, then realized that the snake was 
dead. He couldn't see any wound on the reptile.

	Thrusting the dead snake to the side of the pathway with the branch, he straightened. 
Brown brows were touching in a scowl over his hard, bright eyes.

	Moving quickly, he went on along the pathway, until he saw low white walls ahead. There 
were three of the low-walled, circular enclosures. The nearest was about twenty feet wide. 
The others in the darkness beyond were larger.
	
	Stanley went to the nearest enclosure and examined it in the glow of his flashlight.

	About forty inches high, the circular walls were perpendicular on the outside and curved 
inward from the top an the inside, making it impossible for a snake to crawl out. There was 
a small, domed shelter in the center of the enclosure and two narrow white walks led from 
opposite sides of the shelter to the walls. The rest of the space inside was covered with 
grass.

	Stanley swept the flashlight over the grass and moved until he could shine the light 
through the opening in the domed shelter. The floor was bare, and there was no snake inside 
the circular enclosure. There was, however, a seven-foot rod Iying on the grass near the 
shelter. One end of the rod was fitted with a broad, shallow fork.

	Frowning thoughtfully, Stanley went back to the dead snake beside the pathway and stood 
looking at it for a full minute. He whistled softly and shook his head, wonderingly. Then, 
moving quickly, he transferred the gold compact to his suit coat pocket, holstered his gun, 
and slid out of his raincoat. The crackling garment had hardly dropped before he was sprinting 
along the pathway toward the house.


Reaching the house, he turned into the driveway and ran toward the entrance gates. Fifty feet 
from the last abrupt turn in the drive, he slowed to a cautious walk. Moving nearer, he heard 
voices. Screened by overhanging shrubbery, he glanced around the turn, He saw Ralph Hamer's 
tan-suited figure. William Cathcutt, Alma Hamer's fiance, was standing by Ralph. Cathcutt had 
a flashlight.

	"Stanley and Davis were gone when I went back to the house, Ralph, so I came down here. 
I'm mighty sorry about this. I feel as though I too have lost a--brother. I want you to feel 
that way about me, too. Ralph. Anything that affects Alma. affects me, of course. I want you 
to look upon me as a brother, Ralph."

	Frowning, Stanley watched the two men for another moment or two, then stepped out into the 
driveway and coughed loudly. Ralph Hamer and Cathcutt watched him as he walked down the driveway 
to the gates. Beyond the two men, he could see Johnathan Hamer's body.

	"Mr. Stanley." Cathcutt said, turning the light on the detective, "where have you and Davis 
been? You were gone when I--.'

	"Davis and I have been hunting a snake." Stanley spoke slowly. He was frowning. "We found it."

	"The fer-de-lance ?" Ralph Hamer asked the question shrilly.

	"Right. The fer-de-lance," Stanley told him. "If you and Cathcutt will come up to the 
house, now, we'll straighten this thing out in a very few minutes, very probably before the 
police get here. You sent for them. Cathcutt?"

	"I sent Sam. He's probably back from the Chambers' by now, and the sheriff's men are on the 
way. You killed the fer-de-lance?"

	"It's dead." Stanley switched on his own flashlight. "Shall we start toward the house?"

	"But...but--" Ralph Hamer moved a pudgy hand toward the body of his brother.

	"The sheriff's men should be here in a few minutes. We can't move him," Stanley told him 
gently.

	Dazedly, Ralph Hamer started up the driveway toward the house. Cathcutt walked beside him. 
Stanley followed. None of them spoke.


When they reached the house, Davis and Alma Hamer were in the living room, sitting on the  
lounge. They rose as Ralph Hamer, Cathcutt and Stanley entered the room. The tall secretary 
was all but stiff with fear, The young woman was steadier, but she was badly frightened.

	"Johnathan Hamer was murdered," Stanley said rapidly. "He was bitten on the throat by a 
fer-de-lance. That right, Ralph?"

	"Yes." Ralph Hamer's voice was almost without expression. "I saw the fang marks and the 
eyelids. It was a fer-de-lance."

	"All right. That point is settled." Stanley watched the four people in the room with him.

	Alma Hamer and Davis had dropped back on the lounge. Both watched Stanley. Davis' gaunt 
figure was twitching. The girl's slender fingers laced nervously in her lap.

	Ralph Hamer and William Cathcutt stood with thier backs toward the fireplace, their 
shoulders almost touching. The lounge was to their right. Both watched Stanley fixedly.

	"Johnathan Hamer was murdered," Stanley said quickly, "because the fer-de-lance seldom 
strikes higher than the knee yet Johnathan was struck on the throat. The person who used the 
fer-de-lance to kill Johnathan was smart and nervy." Stanley touched the bulk of the gold 
compact in his coat pocket with his left hand. His other hand grasped the right lapel of his 
coat, near the holstered gun under his left arm. "This person deliberately went into the 
fer-de-lance enclosure and caught the deadly snake with a forked stick. The stick is still in 
the enclosure. With five feet of squirming death in his hands, the killer didn't have time to 
fool around with taking that forked stick out of the enclosure. The snake was part of a beauti-
ful murder plan. It would have been a natural for Johnathan Hamer to have been found, dead of 
snake bite, on his snake farm. But things didn't work out just as the killer planned.

	"First, Johnathan Hamer did not leave the house to see about the snakes, as the killer be-
lieved. I'm positive that Johnathan left to come to the gates and catch me when I came. He had 
telephoned me to come at eight o'clock and knew I would arrive somewhere near that time. He 
wanted to discuss, privately, the confidential matter he wanted me to handle. He offered me a 
thousand-dollar fee to handle it for him. That was over the telephone, and he didn't explain; 
but I now know what the confidential matter was."

	Stanley paused. The four other persons in the living room were motionless, staring at him. 
Davis, on the lounge, whimpered sharply, then was silent.

	"That confidential matter was one of the reasons for Johnathan's death. We'll come back to 
that in a moment. The person who killed Johnathan caught the fer-de-lance, intending to kill 
Johnathan near the snake enclosures. But Johnathan went toward the gates, to wait for me. The 
killer followed him, holding the fer-de-lance in a comparatively safe head hold. He was afraid 
to let go of the snake while it was alive and decided to carry out his plans. He merely followed 
Johnathan to the gates, thrust the snake at him when he came within reach and the fer-de-lance's 
fangs caught Johnathan in the throat. This done, the killer hit Johnathan on the chin to knock 
him out and keep him from screaming. He hit with his free fist, holding the snake's neck with 
the other.

	"After Johnathan fell, the killer fled, knowing the venom would finish the job in a few min-
utes. But he still had five feet of death on his hands, and he was afraid to let go of it while 
the fer-de-lance was living. It would have struck at him. He throttled the snake as the safest 
course and dropped it where Davis and I found it. The killer then returned to the house. His 
plan hadn't worked out just as he wanted it to, but he thought he was safe."


No one moved or made a sound in the living room.

	"Johnathan Hamer was killed for money--money and the reason he called me here tonight. The 
confidential matter he wanted me to handle was an investigation into the character of a certain 
person. Johnathan Hamer didn't like this man and he wanted to be sure about him before he 
married Johnathan's sister, Alma. The investigation would have turned up some unpleasant facts 
in your life, wouldn't it, Cathcutt?"

	"I don't know what you are talking about." Cathcutt spoke evenly, coldly. "If you mean to 
insinuate that I killed--"

	"You did, Cathcutt," Stanley cut in sharply. "I can prove it. Johnathan Hamer was wealthy. 
That meant Alma Hamer would inherit a considerable amount of money if Johnathan was dead. 
Johnathan did not like you. Davis and others knew about that. Johnathan intended to have you 
investigated before his sister married you. The investigation would have wrecked your chances 
of getting Alma Hamer's share of her brother's estate. Killing Johnathan, you realized, would 
remove a threat to you and make certain that Alma Hamer would inherit the money before you 
married her.

	"You worked out a beautiful murder plan, but bungled it when things didn't happen as you 
planned. I'11 have to give you credit for having plenty of nerve. It took nerve to handle 
that fer-de-lance."

	"You're talking like a crazy fool." Cathcutt's broad-shouldered figure was rigidly erect. 
His dark eyes were very bright as he stared at Stanley. "You can't prove one word of your 
insane accusation.'

	"It's simple." Stanley's right hand flexed a little. "You learned how to handle a snake 
by watching and helping Ralph and Johnathan Hamer. It took nerve to handle the fer-de-lance, 
but you did it. Your prints will probably show on the forked stick in the snake pen. And--I 
have this.'

	Stanley took the gold compact from his coat pocket with his left hand and held it where 
the others could see it.

	"This compact belongs to Alma Hamer. It has her name engraved on it. I found it in the 
mud near Johnathan Hamer's body." Stanley returned the compact to his pocket. "Women. Cathcutt, 
have a habit of giving compacts, lipsticks, handkerchiefs and things like that to their closest 
men friends to hold for them, they having no pockets. This compact--"

	"Alma probably lost it some time today," Cathcutt broke in sharply,

	"I did not!" Alma Hamer's voice filled with hate. Her eyes held horror as she looked at 
Cathcutt. "I gave you the compact early this afternoon, and you put it in your pocket." She 
covered her face with her hands and started sobbing.

	"You went to the gates after sending for the sheriff, Cathcutt, to look for this compact. 
You were afraid you had dropped it down on the driveway fill. You slipped out of the house 
earlier to kill Johnathan, while you were supposed to be staying in your room. We'll find mud 
on some of your shoes. We'll probably find a few fer-de-lance scales on some of your clothing. 
We can prove--"

	An incoherent roar burst from Cathcutt's lips. His stocky body spun around and he ran 
toward the fireplace at the end of the room. Reaching it, he snatched one of the tented spears 
from its place over the shield.

	Stanley flipped the automatic from under his left arm, waited until Cathcutt turned, the 
spear poised to throw. Then Stanley shot him in the right knee. The slug knocked Cathcutt's 
right leg from under him; and he fell, screaming with the pain of shattered bone. The spear 
dropped harmlessly to the floor.

	Almost instantly, Stanley heard men's hoarse voices, feet stamping on the Hamer porch, 
and he knew the men from the sheriff's office had arrived.
	
	Ralph Hamer turned, looked at Cathcutt squirming on the floor before the fireplace, then 
faced Stanley.

	"Alma and I are grateful, Mr. Stanley," he said precisely. His full lips were quivering. 
"Johnathan's commitments are my obligations, The thousand-dollar fee he promised you will be 
paid."

	"Thanks."

	Joe Stanley holstered his automatic as the front door opened to admit the men from the 
sheriff's office.


THE END.




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