ing, most of it much the worse for wear and all of it strongly impregnated with the odour of tobacco.
"Anything in the pockets?" asked Godfrey.
"Not a thing except some loose smoking tobacco. There's one thing about the clothing, though—have you noticed? It's all summer clothing; see these linen trousers, now."
Godfrey nodded, with drawn brows.
"What's this?" he asked suddenly, holding up a swart object, shaped like a clam-shell and halving in the same way along the sharp edge.
"I don’t know. A curio picked up at sea somewheres, perhaps. I have a theory that Thompson was a sailor.”
"Why?"
"Well, the bag, in the first place—only a sailor would carry his clothes that way. Then, put your head down in it and, under the tobacco, you'll smell the salt."
Godfrey sniffed and nodded again. Then he got out his knife.
"Let's take a look at the inside of Mr. Thompson's curio," he said, and inserted the blade.
A twist and the sides unclosed. Simmonds sprang back with a sharp cry of surprise as he saw what lay within, and even Godfrey’s heart gave a sudden leap.
For there, coiled thrice upon itself, lay a little viper, with venomous, triangular head.
Then, in an instant, Godfrey smiled.
"It's not alive," he said. "Don't you see, it's some marvellous kind of nut."
