A bit of twisted wire soon
overcame this difficulty, and Furneaux began to read.
There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor's sketches, both in plan and
section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to
be passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and
read, referring back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but
evidently puzzled.
At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of the
safe, examined the bottles on the shelf labeled "poisons," and took a
sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked "C10H14N2."
Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the
door, and let himself out by the way he had come.
Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private
sitting-room. Furneaux appeared there soon.
"Well?" said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
"Got him, I think," said Furneaux.
Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its
answer, but its significance in Siddle's ears, could he have heard, would
have been that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRUTH AT LAST
Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, "I
think," which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought contains
a reservation as to possible error.
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