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She burst in upon him in breathless, horrified distress. “I’ve been bitten!” she cried to him. “Bitten by a snake!”

“Where?” he said.

He had her by the arm in a second and was pushing up the loose holland sleeve. Later she marvelled at his promptitude, his instant intuition. At the moment she was too terrified, too near collapse, to notice any of these things.

He pushed her down upon a chair and knelt beside her. She found herself staring down at a shock of straw-coloured hair, while the owner of it sucked and sucked with an almost brutal force at a place in the crook of her arm that felt as if a red-hot needle had been plunged into it. She could feel the drawing of his teeth against her flesh. It was a sensation almost more horrible than the actual snake-bite had been.

Twice he turned his head and spat into the hearth, and she saw that his face was smooth and young, the colour of sun-baked brick.

At last he looked up at her with the most extraordinarily blue eyes she had ever seen, and said, with a kindly twinkle in them, “I don’t think you’ll die this time, missis.”

She looked from him to her arm. The bite showed no more than the sting of a nettle, but around it was the deep impress of his teeth. Certainly he had done his task thoroughly.

The kettle was singing over the fire. He got to his feet and patted Robin on the head. “Let’s wash it,” he said. “Is there a basin handy?”

Dot sat in her chair, feeling rather weak. He fetched a bowl and set it on a chair by her side. He poured water into it from the kettle.

She looked up at him rather apprehensively. “I needn’t scald it, need I?”

He smiled down at her in instant reassurance, a vivid smile that warmed her fear-chilled heart. His teeth were white and regular, like the teeth of a young wild animal.

“There’s some cold water somewhere, isn’t there?” he said.

She told him where to find it, and he cooled the steaming water to a temperature that she could endure without flinching. Then he made her rest her arm in it.

“That’ll comfort it,” he said. “Now, have you got any spirits in the house?”

“I don’t drink spirits,” she said quickly.

He smiled again. “No? But you must this time–just to complete the cure. Tell me where to find them!”

His smile was certainly magnetic, for she told him without further protest.

When he brought the spirits, she looked at him for the first time with active interest.

“I suppose you are Inspector Hill,” she said.

He was pouring whisky into a glass. He gave her a sidelong glance. “Now that’s a very clever guess,” he said. “What put you on to that?”

She smiled, mainly because he had meant her to smile. “I’ve been half expecting you all day,” she said.

He looked down at her more fully as he finished his task. “That’s very interesting,” he said. “Who told you to expect me?”

“My brother–Jack Burton,” she explained.

“Oh! Jack Burton is your brother, is he?” He contemplated her thoughtfully for a second or two. “Well, I seem to have turned up at the right moment,” he said.

“Yes.” She leaned forward with flushed face upraised. “And I haven’t said ‘Thank you’ yet. I’m so grateful to you. I can’t tell you how grateful.”

“Don’t!” he said. “Don’t! Drink this instead! Drink to the lucky chance that sent me your way! I’m proud to have been of use to you.”

She took the glass unwillingly. “I’m sure I shall hate it.”

“It’s the best antidote to snake-poison out,” he said. “I swear it won’t upset you. If it makes you sleepy, well, you’re in the right place and safe enough.”

She liked his utterance of the last words. They had a genuine ring. “But, if I drink, so must you!” she said. “And eat, too! Jack said I was to give you a meal if you came.”