"I trust not, my dear Adams. We cannot afford to lose you. Now, what is it all about?"
"Another case, that's all. I don't feel like talking about it just yet. I'll give you the particulars some other time."
"And have I helped you?"
"I think you have."
"Of course there are other powders—and there is chloroform—"
"I think we have struck a clue in this. But I must be going."
"What, so soon!" Rudolph Calkey looked hurt. "I was thinking you'd stay the day out. We could chat over old times—I'll order an extra supper—"
"No, not to-day. When this case is settled, I'll come over and we'll make an evening of it." And then the detective had to fairly tear himself from the doctor and the house. They were old friends and had worked on many a case together.
Once back in his office Adam Adams smiled grimly to himself.
"Now, Mr. Tom Ostrello, it looks as if we had you good and hard," he murmured. "You were seen around the place at the time of the murder by Cephas Carboy, you left the bit of paper in the library, you quarrelled at one time with Mr. Langmore and also quarrelled with your mother. The murder was committed by means of that deadly Chinese powder, and you are one of the few persons in this country who knew of the heathenish compound. If you are innocent I rather reckon you have a heap of explanations to make."