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Chapter XI. The Case for the Prosecution

           

           “Ah!Intheeventofanythinghappeningtoyourbrother,whowillinheritStylesCourt?”

           ThebrutalityofthequestioncalledaflushtoLawrence’spaleface.Thejudgegaveventtoafaintmurmurofdisapprobation,andtheprisonerinthedockleantforwardangrily.

           Heavywethercarednothingforhisclient’sanger.

           “Answermyquestion,ifyouplease.”

           “Isuppose,”saidLawrencequietly,“thatIshould.”

           “Whatdoyoumeanbyyou‘suppose’?Yourbrotherhasnochildren.Youwouldinheritit,wouldn’tyou?”

           “Yes.”

           “Ah,that’sbetter,”saidHeavywether,withferociousgeniality.“Andyou’dinheritagoodsliceofmoneytoo,wouldn’tyou?”

           “Really,SirErnest,”protestedthejudge,“thesequestionsarenotrelevant.”

           SirErnestbowed,andhavingshothisarrowproceeded.

           “OnTuesday,the17thJuly,youwent,Ibelieve,withanotherguest,tovisitthedispensaryattheRedCrossHospitalinTadminster?”

           “Yes.”

           “Didyou—whileyouhappenedtobealoneforafewseconds—unlockthepoisoncupboard,andexaminesomeofthebottles?”

           “I—I—mayhavedoneso.”

           “Iputittoyouthatyoudiddoso?”

           “Yes.”

           SirErnestfairlyshotthenextquestionathim.

           “Didyouexamineonebottleinparticular?”

           “No,Idonotthinkso.”

           “Becareful,Mr.Cavendish.IamreferringtoalittlebottleofHydro-chlorideofStrychnine.”

           Lawrencewasturningasicklygreenishcolour.

           “N—o—IamsureIdidn’t.

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