"Be careful," said he; and when he had cautiously sniffed at the
tabloid--held at a safe distance from his nose--he added: "Yes,
potassium cyanide. I thought so when his lips turned that queer colour.
It was in that last cigarette; you can see that he has bitten off the
end."
For some time we stood silently looking down at the still form stretched
on the floor. Presently Badger looked up.
"As you pass the porter's lodge on your way out," said he, "you might
just drop in and tell him to send a constable to me."
"Very well," said Thorndyke. "And by the way, Badger, you had better tip
that sherry back into the decanter and put it under lock and key, or
else pour it out of the window."
"Gad, yes!" exclaimed the inspector. "I'm glad you mentioned it. We
might have had an inquest on a constable as well as a lawyer. Good
night, gentlemen, if you are off."
We went out and left him with his prisoner--passive enough, indeed,
according to his ambiguously worded promise. As we passed through the
gateway Thorndyke gave the inspector's message, curtly and without
comment, to the gaping porter, and then we issued forth into Chancery
Lane.
Pages:
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498