"If _I_ were trembling with
expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than swallow
the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage
wines while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich."
Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
"Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?" he inquired.
"Ah, well, I'm tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till twelve, so
I'll give you a condensed version," snapped Furneaux. "Elkin 's illness,
begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed into steady poisoning by
Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too--pure nicotine--easy, in a
sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable explanations when
revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn't to be killed outright, I
gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till he was half crazy.
As you can read print when it's before your eyes, I needn't go into the
matter of motive; Elkin's behavior supplies all details."
"How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
skin."
"One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292