On the table before Doyle there were two glasses, as well as some other objects which Doyle had either collected or brought with him from the office.
"I suppose those are the glasses you found at the office," ventured Kennedy. "In one of them I understand that traces of atropin were found."
Doyle nodded.
"What's that?" asked Craig, pointing to a cut-glass-stoppered bottle which was standing by the glasses, empty.
"That? It was found with a vanity-case and some other things on her dressing-table. It once contained belladonna—atropin, you know. I've had her maid, Celeste, cross-examined. Mrs. Wilford used belladonna to brighten her eyes sometimes, as many society women do."
I shot a glance of inquiry at Doyle, who nodded. "So far, we haven't been able to connect Mrs. Wilford directly with the mystery, but we're keeping the evidence," he confirmed.
I must admit that both Doyle's information and his general attitude after what we had heard from Leslie came as a shock.
Yet, try as I might, I had to admit that even if that were the purpose for which Honora Wilford had the belladonna, it need not have been the only use to which she put it. Doyle was raising a very serious presumption, at least. A poison like belladonna was a dangerous weapon, I reasoned, in the hands of a jealous woman. The mere possession of it and the traces of atropin in the glass did, I confessed, look badly.
A moment later, with the physician and the detective, we entered the room where the body lay.
Wilford had been a large and rather forceful figure in life. I knew him as a man of unusual ability, though I despised the direction in which his legal talents had been diverted. Perhaps, I thought, unusual talents had brought unusual temptations. For, whatever we may have thought of people in life, our judgments are necessarily softened by death.