visit the dispensary at the Red Cross Hospital in Tadminster?”

“Yes.”

“Did you—while you happened to be alone for a few seconds—unlock the poison cupboard, and examine some of the bottles?”

“I—I—may have done so.”

“I put it to you that you did do so?”

“Yes.”

Sir Ernest fairly shot the next question at him.

“Did you examine one bottle in particular?”

“No, I do not think so.”

“Be careful, Mr. Cavendish. I am referring to a little bottle of Hydrochloride of Strychnine.”

Lawrence was turning a sickly greenish colour.


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John, I could have understood it. He has no technical knowledge, and is by nature unimaginative. But Monsieur Lawrence—no! And now, to-day, he puts forward a suggestion that he himself must have known was ridiculous. There is food for thought in this, mon ami!”

“It’s very confusing,” I agreed.

“Then


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