"Look here," said Charters in a flat tone, "what the devil's the matter with you, man? Speak up! What's wrong?"
"Nothing wrong. I just wondered "
"Stop that confounded jumping," said Charters testily. "You're not usually like this because Betty gets on a bus."
Antrim pulled himself together. Another thought appeared to have occurred to him, which he wished to dispel in our minds. He gave a sidelong glance at us, and spoke more genially. "Oh, I don't think she's running away or anything like that. Fact is, there's been a slight mistake. Nothing important, of course, and it's easily rectified; but it 'ud be damned awkward-" He stopped. "I suppose I ought to tell you. Fact is, a couple of bottles seem to have been misplaced or got lost in my dispensary. I don't think they're missing, and they'll turn up, but it's "
"Bottles?" said H.M. sharply, and opened his eyes. "What bottles?"
"It looks like negligence, and it would be bad for me. The trouble is, they're both little bottles of about the same size. And, to look at 'em, you'd think they contained the same stuff. Of course, they're both labelled, so there's no harm done. One is potassium bromide, ordinary nerve sedative, in the crystalline form. But the other, worse luck, contains strychnine salts — very soluble stuff."
There was a pause. H.M.'s face remained wooden, but I saw that he was biting hard on the stem of his pipe.
CHAPTER THREE
The Shutters of Suburbia
It was a quarter past nine when I set out on my weird travels. I ate a plate of sandwiches and drank a bottle of beer while a route was mapped out for me to Moreton Abbot, some ten miles away. Things did not now look so bad: with luck, I should be able to get the business done and return to Charters's by midnight, with everything off my mind. I did not realize the nervous strain under which I was fuming, although the sandwiches seemed tasteless and the beer flat.