"I think she's breaking," he pursued. "I know I'm on the right track. I thought you might like to know it. If I don't get a confession—say, I'll eat my shield!"
With difficulty I restrained myself. It was not policy to offend Doyle, I reasoned.
"Say," pursued Doyle, with a knowing nod, "you remember I found out that some one had been at that office the night Wilford was murdered?"
"Yes," agreed Kennedy.
"Well—who was it?" demanded Doyle. "Who must it have been? Who wanted her husband out of the way? Isn't it clear?"
There was no mistake that he implied Honora.
"By the way," interposed Kennedy, "I think I've found the poison that killed him."
"Belladonna—eh?"
"No. Just the opposite—physostigmine."
Doyle stared. Yet he could not dispute.