MITCHINGTON STEPPED aside into a private room, motioning Bryce to follow him. He carefully closed the door, and looking significantly at his companion, repeated his last words, with a shake of the head.
“Poisoned!—without the very least doubt,” he whispered. “Hydrocyanic acid—which, I understand, is the same thing as what’s commonly called prussic acid. They say then hadn’t the least difficulty in finding that out! so there you are.”
“That’s what Coates has told you, of course?” asked Bryce. “After the autopsy?”
“Both of ‘em told me—Coates, and Everest, who helped him,” replied Mitchington. “They said it was obvious from the very start. And—I say!”
“Well?” said Bryce.
“It wasn’t in that tin bottle, anyway,” remarked Mitchington, who was evidently greatly weighted with mystery.
“No!—o
