But the Chief Inspector grabbed his tiny friend by the
collar as the latter darted around the counter and into the dispensary
in the rear.
"Two of us can't go abreast, and you'll only get hurt," he said, speaking
with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
"The nicotine is gone!" yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe
stood open.
Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted, and
a door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was open
when Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way at once.
No ordinary lock could resist Winter's shoulder, and he soon mastered
this barrier. But the kitchen was empty--the outer door locked but
unbolted. Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man to
pull a door open, the two made for the window, and tore at screws and
catch with eager fingers. Furneaux, light and nimble-footed, scrambled
through first, so it was he who found Siddle lying in the orchard beyond
the wall of the yard. The unhappy wretch had swallowed nearly the whole
remaining contents of the bottle of nicotine, or enough to poison a score
of robust men. He presented a lamentable and distressing spectacle.
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