“He had picked and dried a handful or two of the toadstools, as he called them, but they had crumbled on the voyage home, and what he brought me was dust. I detected the presence of an agent not yet known to science, and I gave it the name of upasine. It seemed to me so dangerous that an unknown poison should be in the hands of anyone but a man like myself, that I asked Armstrong to sell me all he had brought home, and he agreed to do it.”
“But in that case—your bottle was untouched?” I objected.
“True. It is clear that he deceived me. Either he had parted with some of the poison before coming to me, and didn’t like to admit it, or else he kept some for himself as a curiosity. If it isn’t in his possession, I expect to hear of it in the same quarter as the leopard skin and claws.”
CHAPTER XV
THE LADY OF THE LEOPARD SKIN
I got little more out of my chief during the rest of the journey to town. The gold repeater came into action as soon as we were seated in the train, and I could only wonder what was the problem that was still baffling that keen intelligence.
To me, I confess, the solution of the mystery seemed now to be well in sight. On our return to town I expected to find that Inspector Charles had ascertained the present whereabouts of the explorer of Sumatra. From him it should not be difficult to learn the identity of the Leopardess, as I called her in my own mind; and I took it for granted that she was a victim of Weathered’s who had delivered herself out of his power by the use of the deadly fungus of the upas.
My one anxiety at present was the thought of the missing letters. I wearied myself with speculating as to whose hands they had passed into since the murder, and by what means they could be recovered and destroyed without their contents becoming known. I was as far as ever from seeing my way clearly when we arrived in Montague Street that evening.
A serious disappointment waited for us there. An official envelope stamped with the seal of New Scotland Yard lay on the table in the hall. Before I had closed the front door Tarleton had pounced upon it, torn it open, and scanned the note inside with an impatient scowl.
“Fool!”
He almost flung the Inspector’s communication in my face. It stated briefly that Captain Armstrong had met his death by malarial fever in Yucatan six months ago; and that was all. I hardly know what more Charles could have said, since he was quite ignorant why the explorer’s address was wanted. Tarleton sometimes failed to allow for the fact that his assistants were not all gifted with his own quickness of apprehension. However, I didn’t venture to defend the delinquent.