feet at the most—­between the despatch-box and the tent-wall.  His fingers felt along the ledge of the bureau and closed with a silent grip upon the handle of the riding-crop.  Thresk jumped to the natural conclusion:  a snake had crept in under the tent-wall and Ballantyne dared not move lest the snake should strike.  Neither did he dare to move himself.  Ballantyne was clearly within reach of its fangs.  But he looked and—­there was nothing.  The light was not good certainly, and down by the tent-wall there close to the floor it was shadowy and dim.  But Thresk’s eyes were keen.  The space between the despatch-box and the wall was empty.  Nothing crawled there, nothing was coiled.

Thresk looked at Ballantyne with amazement; and as he looked Ballantyne sprang from his chair with a scream of terror—­the scream of a panic-stricken child.  He sprang with an agility which Thresk would never have believed possible in a man of so gross a build.  He leapt into the air and with his crop he struck savagely once, twice and thrice at the floor between the wall and the box.  Then he turned to Thresk with every muscle working in his face.

“Did you see?” he cried.  “Did you see?”

“What?  There was nothing to see!”

“Nothing!” screamed Ballantyne.  He picked up the box and placed it on the table, thrusting it under Thresk’s hand.  “Hold that!  Don’t let go!  Stay here and don’t let go,” he said, and running up the tent raised his voice to a shout.

“Baram Singh!” and lifting the tent-door he called to others of his servants by name.  Without waiting for them he ran out himself and in a second Thresk heard him cursing thickly and calling in panic-stricken tones just close to that point of the wall against which the bureau stood.  The camp woke to clamour.

Thresk stood by the table gripping the handle of the despatch-box as he had been bidden to do.  The tent-door was left open.  He could see lights flashing, he heard Ballantyne shouting orders, and his voice dwindled and grew loud as he moved from spot to spot in the encampment.  And in the midst of the noise the white frightened face of Stella Ballantyne appeared at the opening of her corridor.

“What has happened?” she asked in a whisper.  “Oh, I was afraid that you and he had quarrelled,” and she stood with her hand pressed over her heart.

“No, no indeed,” Thresk replied, and Captain Ballantyne stumbled back into the tent.  His face was livid, and yet the sweat stood upon his forehead.  Stella Ballantyne drew back, but Ballantyne saw her as she moved and drove her to her own quarters.

“I have a private message for Mr. Thresk’s ears,” he said, and when she had gone he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“Now you must help me,” he said in a low voice.  But his voice shook and his eyes strayed again to the ground by the wall of the tent.

“It was just there the arm came through,” he said.  “Yes, just there,” and he pointed a trembling finger.