paper, edged with silver-gilt, and the address was in tiny, almost unreadable script:
M. Edouard Minton,
30 Rue Carter ci 30,
Harrisonville, N. J.
"U'm?" de Grandin commented as he inspected it. "It is addressed à la française. And the letter, may one read it?"
"Of course," Ned answered. "I'd like you to."
Across de Grandin's shoulder I made out the hastily-scrawled missive:
Adoré
Remember your promise and the kiss of blood that sealed it. Soon I shall tall and you must come.
Pour le temps et pour l'éternité,
Julie.
"You recognize the writing?" de Grandin asked. "It is——"
"Oh, yes," Ned answered bitterly. "I recognize it; it's the same the other note was written in."
"And then?"
The boy smiled bleakly. "I crushed the thing into a ball and threw it on the floor and stamped on it. Swore I'd die before I'd keep another rendezvous with her, and——" He broke of?, and put trembling hands up to his face.
"The so mysterious serpent came again, one may assume?" de Grandin prompted.
"But it's only a phantom snake," I interjected. "At worst it's nothing more than a terrifying vision——"
"Think so?" Ned broke in. "D'ye remember Rowdy, my airedale terrier?"
I nodded,
"He was in the room when I opened this letter, and when the cottonmouth appeared beside me on the floor he made a dash for it. Whether it would have struck me I don't know, but it struck at him as he leaped and caught him squarely in the throat. He thrashed and fought, and the thing held on with locked jaws till I grabbed a fire-shovel and made for it; then, before I could strike, it vanished.
"But its venom didn't. Poor old Rowdy was dead before I could get him out of the house, but I took his corpse to Doctor Kirchoff, the veterinary, and told him Rowdy died suddenly and I wanted him to make an autopsy. He went back to his operating-room and stayed there half an hour. When he came back to the office he was wiping his glasses and wore the most astonished look I've ever seen on a human face. 'You say your dog died suddenly—in the house?' he asked.
"'Yes,' I told him; 'just rolled over and died.'
"'Well, bless my soul, that's the most amazing thing I ever heard!' he answered. 'I can't account for it. That dog died from snake-bite; copperhead, I'd say, and the marks of the fangs show plainly on his throat.'"
"But I thought you said it was a water moccasin," I objected. "Now Doctor Kirchoff says it was a copperhead "
"Ah bah!" de Grandin laughed a thought unpleasantly. "Did no one ever tell you that the copperhead and moccasin are of close kind, my friend? Have not you heard some ophiologists maintain the moccasin is but a dark variety of copperhead?" He did not pause for my reply, but turned again to Ned:
"One understands your chivalry, Monsieur. For yourself you have no fear, since after all at times life can be bought too dearly, but the death of your small dog has put a different aspect on the matter. If this never-to-be-sufficiently-anathematized serpent which comes and goes like the boîte à surprise—the how do you call him? Jack from the box?—is, enough a ghost thing to appear at any
