The Python

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A SALLOW, leering face gloated as it studied the prone, limp figure stretched upon a rickety cot. Ratlike features surveyed the closed eyes of a drawn, bloodstained countenance. Such was the scene that showed beneath the glare of a single electric-light bulb, which provided the sole illumination of a windowless, stone-walled room.

The leering man was short and stocky. The malicious ugliness of his thick lips and pudgy profile was increased by a scar that crossed his sloping forehead.

His clothes, though new, were cheap and ill-fitting. In every point of appearance, he was inferior to his unconscious victim.

The prisoner on the cot was clad in evening clothes of faultless fashion. His face, despite its gashes, was one that betokened dignity. His features were of even mold; calm, even in this temporary state of oblivion.

The rat-faced man turned from the cot. He thrust a cigarette between his puffed lips and scratched a match upon the surface of a metal-sheeted door. As he lighted his cigarette, he stopped abruptly; then wheeled about to face another door on the opposite side of the room.

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