I said, ‘I would simply like your opinion. If I could just remind you of the facts . . .’
I took a scrap of paper from my pocket book.
‘Five minutes, Captain Stringer.’
‘Early in April,’ I said, reading from the paper, ‘there were a couple of incidents that did not result in fatalities. Then, on 10 April, a fellow called Milner, an employee of the Railway, was killed by a common krait at Asansol, about a hundred and forty miles out from Howrah. At about the same time, a Miss Schofield died of fright at Howrah station itself after an encounter with a hyderabad.’
‘Hyderabad’, said Fleming, ‘is an Indian city. I think you mean a hamadryad.’
‘Sorry, yes. A king cobra. Then, I think on Monday 23 April, a sawscale viper killed Walter Gill, an American tourist, at Bally, seven miles out from Howrah. On the same day, a common krait killed a Colonel Kerry at Khana.’
I hesitated. All the Ks made it ridiculous. Fleming was looking at his watch.
‘Khana is seventy miles out from Howrah,’ I continued. ‘On Thursday 26 April, some men of Blakeborough hydraulic engineers beat to death another krait near Moghalsarai, about three hundred miles out. On Sunday 29 April Douglas Poole, employee of the Railway, was given a glancing bite by an Indian cobra at Ondal, two stops before Asansol. He was unharmed. On Tuesday 1 May a sawscale viper was apparently found in a first class compartment of an East Bengal train departing Sealdah station for Siliguri. Nobody was harmed, and it was removed from the train.’
Fleming frowned. ‘That one wasn’t reported.’
‘No,’ I agreed, ‘it wasn’t. Yesterday a fellow called Biswas, a lawyer travelling on Railway business, was bitten at Rannegunge, one stop before Asansol, by a Russell’s viper. All but one of these attacks occurred in first class carriages of the East Indian Railway, on trains departing from Howrah, and I was wondering whether the attacker might have a grievance against the Railway, perhaps arising from his own employment on the Railway. Perhaps he was – or is – in the traffic department. He would then know something about where the trains are stabled at Howrah, and where they are going to, and he himself would have a first class pass that would allow him to board the right parts of the trains at any time and place anywhere along the line.’
Hedley Fleming hesitated for a moment. Then he said, ‘Is the man Poole in the traffic department?’
I nodded.
‘Are you saying he was bitten by a snake that he himself had taken on to the train?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘From what you’ve said, I don’t think there would have been any need for anyone to go along the line. All the snakes on the East Indian could have been put on at Howrah. ’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘The biggest snake, the king cobra, was discovered immediately, at Howrah itself. Well, that’s no surprise. A snake of that size couldn’t remain concealed for long. The sawscale viper is an aggressive character, and so it attacked early, at Bally, just a few miles out. You say it was a sawscale that was found on the East Bengal, and it was discovered at the originating station there as well. But to go back to the East Indian, the snake coming to light at the furthest distance, at . . .’
‘At Moghalsarai.’
He nodded. ‘That was a krait, a relatively small snake, which might easily remain undiscovered for hours if tucked away beneath a seat. And there was another krait, you say?’
‘That struck at seventy miles out – at Khana.’
‘Even so, that’s after a good distance. The Russell’s viper would bide its time as well, and it struck towards Asansol, again after a good while.’
‘But what about the ordinary cobra? That bit Poole at Ondal, just two stops before Asansol – so more than a hundred miles out.’
Professor Hedley Fleming shrugged. ‘That is perhaps slightly anomalous. I might have expected an Indian cobra to strike before then if put on at Howrah.’
‘So it could have been put on later, at a stop after Howrah?’
‘All the snakes discovered after Howrah could have been put on after Howrah; I’m only saying they might not have been.’
He was rising from his seat. My time was up. He was no doubt relieved to see me putting the list of snake casualties back into my pocket book, and he was no doubt annoyed to see me take out another paper. It was the scrawled map showing the location of the head snake man. I handed it over to Fleming, saying, ‘I believe that a man operating from this spot is selling poisonous – I mean venomous snakes.’
‘Selling them to whom?’ he asked, returning the map.