Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs -
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house."
The front door with the colonnaded veranda was wide open. The palace
was completely empty inside. The agents even climbed up to the attic,
knocking and opening all the doors, but they found nothing and went out
again into the yard through the deserted porch.
"We'll walk round the outside to the conservatory," Shukin said. "We'll
give that a good going over and we can phone from there too."
The agents set off along the brick path, past the flowerbeds and across
the backyard, at which point the conservatory came into sight.
"Wait a minute," whispered Shukin, unbuckling his revolver. Polaitis
tensed and took his machine-gun in both hands. A strange, very loud noise
was coming from the conservatory and somewhere behind it. It was like the
sound of a steam engine. "Zzzz-zzzz," the conservatory hissed.
"Careful now," whispered Shukin, and trying not to make a sound the
agents stole up to the glass walls and peered into the conservatory.
Polaitis immediately recoiled, his face white as a sheet. Shukin froze,
mouth open and revolver in hand.
The conservatory was a terrible writhing mass. Huge snakes slithered
across the floor, twisting and intertwining, hissing and uncoiling, swinging
and shaking their heads. The broken shells on the floor crunched under their
bodies. Overhead a powerful electric lamp shone palely, casting an eery
cinematographic light over the inside of the conservatory. On the floor lay
three huge photographic-like chambers, two of which were dark and had been
pushed aside, but a small deep-red patch of light glowed in the third.
Snakes of all sizes were crawling over the cables, coiling round the frames
and climbing through the holes in the roof. From the electric lamp itself
hung a jet-black spotted snake several yards long, its head swinging like a
pendulum. There was an occasional rattle amid the hissing, and a strange