He had evidently been using the piece of gauze on which he had preserved the liquid from the peculiar little marks on Rawaruska's spine.
"Narcophin," he muttered, still squinting.
"Narcophin?" I repeated. "What is that?"
"A derivative of opium—morphine. There's another poison here, too," he added.
"What is it?"
"Scopolamine," he answered tersely, "scopolamine hydrobromide."
"Why," I exclaimed, "that is the drug they use in this new 'twilight sleep,' as they call it."
"Exactly," he replied, "the dämmerschlaf. I suspected something of the kind when I saw those little punctures on her back. Some people show a marked susceptibility to it; others just the reverse. Evidently she was one of those who go under it quietly and quickly."
I looked at Kennedy in amazement.
"You can see," he went on, catching the expression on my face, "if it could be used for medical science, it could also be used for crime. That's the way I reasoned, the way someone else must have reasoned."