"But this report is genuine," he cried. "Here are the details of the tests applied and the result. There was no trace discovered of any poison."
"No trace at all," Hanaud replied. He was not in the least disturbed by the question.
"Then I don't understand why you bring the accusation or whom you accuse," Frobisher exclaimed.
"I have accused no one," said Hanaud steadily. "Let us be clear about that! As to your other question—look!"
He took Frobisher by the elbow and led him to that bookshelf by the window before which they had stood together yesterday.
"There was an empty space here yesterday. You yourself drew my attention to it. You see that the space is filled to-day."
"Yes," said Jim.
Hanaud took down the volume which occupied the space. It was of quarto size, fairly thick and bound in a paper cover.
"Look at that," he said; and Jim Frobisher as he took it noticed with a queer little start that although Hanaud's eyes were on his face they were blank of all expression. They did not see him. Hanaud's senses were concentrated on the two girls at neither of whom he so much as glanced. He was alert to them, to any movement they might make of surprise or terror. Jim threw up his head in a sudden revolt. He was being used for another trick, as some conjurer may use a fool of a fellow whom he has persuaded out of his audience on to his platform. Jim looked at the cover of the book, and cried with enough violence to recall Hanaud's attention:
"I see nothing here to the point. It is a treatise printed by some learned society in Edinburgh."