“No, sir; they’re one and the same thing!”
“All right, son; have it your own way. Now, if you’re ready to get ready, skittle off to your chain of drug stores, and run down a henbane purchase by any citizen of this little old town, or adjacent boroughs.”
Fibsy went off. He had recovered from the sense of annoyance at being chaffed by Stone, but it made him more resolved than ever to prove the strange theory he had formed. He didn’t dignify his idea by the name of theory, but he was doggedly sticking to a notion which, he hoped, would bring forth some strange developments and speedily.
Laying aside his own plans for the moment, he went about Stone’s business, and had little difficulty in finding the nearby druggist whom Hendricks frequently patronized.
“Alvord Hendricks? Sure he trades here,” said the dapper young clerk. “He buys mostly shaving-cream and tooth-paste, but here’s where he buys it.”
“Righto! And, say, a month or so ago, he bought some hyoscine—”
“Oh, no, excuse me, he did not! That’s not sold hit or miss. But maybe you mean hyoscyamine. That’s another thing.”
“Why, maybe I do. Look up the sale, can’t you, and make sure.”
“Why should I?”
Fibsy explained that in the interests of a police investigation it might be better to acquiesce than to question why, and the young man proved obliging.