Minutes later Newman could hear that people had entered the building. It was much too soon to assume that Mr. Rugg had succeeded in his efforts to put him together with the rescuing Miss Wolf. There was a little grunting and some low talking and then the conversation became louder as men entered the room in which Newman had been protectively installed.
“The empty cage at the bottom,” said one of the men. “Careful now, Micks. That mamba’s in a pretty lousy mood.”
“I swear to Christ, Evans, I thought Animal Control was gonna chop her head off right then and there. Grey Lady, you don’t know how close you came to extermination.”
“We may still have to euthanize her. She isn’t the cuddly cutie that Bubbles is, but can you blame her — I mean just minding her own business when some humanoid asshole drops right down on top of her? Hello, Bubbles, you beauty. Getting better I hear.”
Newman receded as best as he was able into the darkness of the cage and held himself very still and very quiet. He fought the urge to cough again, the suppression making the urge grow ever more importunate, while a man stood before the cage and talked pretty-polly nonsense to Newman’s coiled co-boarder. Newman tucked his head behind his knees to make himself as small as possible, and prayed that he would not be seen. Nor heard — the latter proving a far more difficult thing to effect. No longer able to contain his cough, Newman emitted a double hack into the fabric of his trowsers. Though muffled, the sound nonetheless reached the
ears of at least one of the two men standing hard by.
“Well, Bubbles isn’t totally well, Evans. I just heard her cough.”
“You idiot. Snakes don’t cough.”
“How do you know? You’re not an ophiologist. You’re a batrachianist.”
“Come on — the police still have a few more questions.”
“I tell you — Miss Bubbles coughed.”
“Yeah, right.”
The voices died away, the outer door opened and closed, and Newman Trimmers allowed himself to cough and cough, now without consequence. Bubbles considered her noisy cage-mate for a moment and then settled
herself down for a postprandial snooze.
In the north building, Mr. Rugg was now speaking to the woman named Angela Carpenter who sat behind the admission counter. All around the old man were employees of Clive and Clare’s Reptilarium clearing away the scattered remnants of the Black mamba’s previous home, other employees escorting frightened families to the front door, medical men patching up victims of the earlier mêlée, and several uniformed police officers asking questions and writing down the answers on little pads.
“I am looking for Miss Wolf,” said Mr. Rugg to Angela, who seemed distracted and not very attentive to her enquirer.
“Miss Wolf: have you seen her?” he reframed his request.
“She isn’t here,” said Angela, looking about. “Somebody said there’s another snake on the loose. Is it true?”
Mr. Rugg shook his head. “Calm yourself, dear girl. There was only the one snake and it has been apprehended. The crisis is past.”
Angela sat herself down and waved a floppy book in front of her reddened face to calm and ventilate herself. “I’m quitting this damned job. It gives me nightmares. And now they’re only gonna get worse. I wish I was still selling beauty products.”
“Would you know, Miss Davenport, if Miss Wolf is on her way?”
“How would I know?”
“You’re friends with her, are you not?”
“Well…yes, but I don’t—”
Angela was interrupted by a policeman who set a cracked paperweight down upon the glass counter that separated her from Mr. Rugg. “Is this what the kid used to assault the victim?”
“That’s it, I think,” said Angela.
“And where is he right now — the assailant?”
“I have no idea,” Angela replied. “He could be anywhere by now. Who knows?”
The policeman — a young blond-haired man with a full moustache— turned now to Mr. Rugg. “Did you see it happen? Did you see the kid hit Mr. Caldwell?”
The old man shook his head.“I was in the infirmary.” Mr. Rugg thought it best to simply leave it at that, although he could not have said anything else if he had desired to, for at just that moment Ruth Wolf entered the building through the front door, accompanied by her colleague Mr. Phillips. Mr. Rugg knew them both: Miss Wolf, the nurse; and Mr. Phillips, the jeweller. Years ago Rugg had sold some ancient Dinglian jewelry to Phillips and had done so without raising even the slightest suspicion. Perhaps it was luck or perhaps it was simple inattention, but there was also the good chance that it was an intentional accommodation of his secret on the part of the jeweller.
Miss Wolf and Miss Davenport interchanged looks that were insufficiently expository given the presence of the policeman and the elderly oddity named Rugg, and for a moment no one knew just what to do since there were things that needed to be said and couldn’t. Finally, the officer was called away and Rugg quickly interposed in a pregnant undertone, “Miss Wolf, it is good that you are here. For I am suffering another bout of sciatica for which I should like to seek your medical opinion.”
“I’m not a doctor, Mr. Rugg. You should see a doctor.”
“But I am certain that once you addressed the issue — you and no one else — you would clap your hands together and say, ‘Ah, what we have here is a brand new man! Yes, yes, a brand new man!”
Ruth Wolf looked at Mr. Rugg with an abstract expression that lasted no longer than a second or two, when Rugg’s double meaning became completely lucid. “A new man, you say?”
“Oh, yes. But you must see to it alone.”
“But Mr. Phillips is my most able and trustworthy assistant. May I not bring him along with me?”
“Does he subscribe wholly to your methods?”
“I do. I most certainly do,” struck in Mr. Phillips, having quickly got the gist of the contrivance himself.
“Then let us go to the infirmary,” said Mr. Rugg, “which is the best place for the examination.”
Miss Wolf turned to her friend Angela. “Miss Davenport: Mr. Rugg and Mr. Phillips and I will be in the infirmary. But it isn’t necessary for you to tell anyone.”
The young woman behind the counter nodded. Then she whispered, “God bless you and good luck.”
The three were quickly off and away — as briskly as could a threesome go with two of its number of advanced years. As they passed the two medical men who were tending to the half-delirious Mr. Caldwell upon the floor, the patient lifted his head and caught a glimpse of them and gave a startled look that would give one to think that he perceived another Black mamba making its serpentine way to put fresh fangs into his flesh. “Easy, easy,” said the medical man, as he and his companion began to lift Caldwell onto a litter.
“We’ve really got to hurry!” urged Mr. Phillips. “As soon as Caldwell gets his wits back, he’ll be in touch with the other goons.”