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Chapter V. “It Isn’t Strychnine, Is It?”
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“What?Youcannotbeserious?”
“ButIammostserious.Ah,thereissomethingtherethatIdonotunderstand.Myinstinctwasright.”
“Whatinstinct?”
“Theinstinctthatledmetoinsistonexaminingthosecoffee-cups.Chut!nomorenow!”
WefollowedJohnintohisstudy,andheclosedthedoorbehindus.
Mr.Wellswasapleasantmanofmiddle-age,withkeeneyes,andthetypicallawyer’smouth.Johnintroducedusboth,andexplainedthereasonofourpresence.
“Youwillunderstand,Wells,”headded,“thatthisisallstrictlyprivate.Wearestillhopingthattherewillturnouttobenoneedforinvestigationofanykind.”
“Quiteso,quiteso,”saidMr.Wellssoothingly.“Iwishwecouldhavesparedyouthepainandpublicityofaninquest,butofcourseit’squiteunavoidableintheabsenceofadoctor’scertificate.”
“Yes,Isupposeso.”
“Cleverman,Bauerstein.Greatauthorityontoxicology,Ibelieve.”
“Indeed,”saidJohnwithacertainstiffnessinhismanner.Thenheaddedratherhesitatingly:“Shallwehavetoappearaswitnesses—allofus,Imean?”
“You,ofcourse—andah—er—Mr.—er—Inglethorp.”
Aslightpauseensuedbeforethelawyerwentoninhissoothingmanner:
“Anyotherevidencewillbesimplyconfirmatory,amerematterofform.”
“Isee.”
AfaintexpressionofreliefsweptoverJohn’sface.Itpuzzledme,forIsawnooccasionforit.
“Ifyouknowofnothingtothecontrary,”pursuedMr.Wells,“IhadthoughtofFriday.
