"Have a cigar," said Stone affably.
A somewhat dazed clerk, with a cigar in one hand and a cobwebbed revolver in the other, was shepherded out of the room. When the door was closed, the two others turned to us. Murchison's air of sleepy-smiling bonhomie was gone; his heavy face, with the puckered eyelids looked ugly and worried. He held the red-sealed envelope which he had deftly slid out of Robinson's hand, and he tapped it against his hat. Stone was worried too: he spoke in an almost conspiratorial tone, peering over his shoulder to make sure the door was closed.
"Listen," Stone said hoarsely. "I didn't tell him about it. That is, I didn't introduce the subject, until after he'd told me something. Then I had to tell him, and we got over here as fast as we could. Bill here-"
"Wait a bit, Pop," said Murchison irreverently. After a pause, during which the breath whistled in his nostrils, the inspector spoke in a very quiet voice. "He's dead, isn't he?"
The breeze still blew the curtains at the window. Evelyn went over softly and huddled down into the padded chair.
"Dead? Who?"
"You know who I mean. Dr. Keppel."
I drew a deep breath. "Yes, he's dead. He's sitting in that room down there, in exactly the same position as… Here, by the way: do you know about Hogenauer?"
"Yes. The head of the family here told me after I'd disgorged my bit of information, which I didn't know was important." He smiled sardonically. "I thought it was a bit of a good story to greet the visitor with. It wasn't. It Let's get this straight. Keppel's dead, then. Strychnine poisoning, I suppose?"
"That's it; and in the same brand of mineral-water as Hogenauer. They're sitting in just the same position at the table, and Keppel's got on a cap like Hogenauer. But how did you know it?"