I looked at it curiously and, in spite of my former assurance, began to wonder whether, after all, the possibility of a girl being struck down suddenly, without warning, in a public place and robbed—or worse—might not take on the guise of ghastly reality.
"What do you make of it?" asked Garrick, evidently now enjoying the puzzled look on my face.
I could merely shrug my shoulders.
"Well," he drawled, "that is a weapon they hinted at last night. The possibilities of it are terrifying. Why, it could easily be plunged through a fur coat, without breaking."
He took the needle and made an imaginary lunge at me.
"When people tell you that the hypodermic needle cannot be employed in a case like this that they are planning," he continued, "they are thinking of ordinary hypodermics. Those things wouldn't be very successful usually, anyhow, under such circumstances. But this is different. The very form of this needle makes it particularly effective for anyone who wishes to use it for crime. For instance—take it on a railroad or steamship or in a hotel. Draw back the plunger—so—one quick jab—then drop it on the floor and grind it under your heel. The glass is splintered into a thousand bits. All evidence of guilt is destroyed, unless someone is looking for it practically with a microscope."
"Yes," I persisted, "that is all right—but the pain and the moments before the drug begins to work?"
With one hand Garrick reached into the case, selecting a little thin glass tube, and with the other he pulled out his handkerchief.
"Smell that!" he exclaimed, bending over me so that I could see every move and be prepared for it.
Yet it was done so quickly that I could not protect myself.