“This liquid is a mixture of sulphuric acid and formaldehyde,” he explained. “I’m going to make a Marquis test. It’s named after the man who invented it long before either you or I were born. Nobody seems to know much about Marquis, but he knew what he was doing. He found that when you add this liquid to an opium narcotic powder, the powder will show purple discoloration. Now watch.”
Kenney poured a few drops of the liquid onto the powder to dissolve it. But there was no indication of a purple color.
“Is that test conclusive?” the inspector asked.
“No, not necessarily,” Kenney said. “There are some impurities which could produce a purple discoloration. Let’s see if we can isolate any opium with another test.” But when an effort was made to extract opium from the powder with an infallible procedure, the result was negative. The powder beyond doubt did not contain narcotics.
“Well,” Kenney said, “that’s it. Your seamen wasn’t smuggling narcotics.”
The inspector said, “I know you’re right but I was certain I had grabbed a sack of heroin. What is the stuff in the sack?”
Kenney said, “I don’t know, but I’ve got a pretty good hunch. I’ll run another test and let you know the results.”
When Kenney completed his testing the following morning, he called the inspector. “Your man was carrying saccharine,” he said.
The inspector returned to the ship to have the seaman freed from detention and to question him further. “The powder wasn’t heroin,” he said. “It was saccharine. I’d like to know one thing. Why did you make such a big mystery of it?”
The seaman at last disclosed that he was a diabetic—and that for months he had kept this fact from his shipmates and from the ship’s officers. He gave himself insulin shots secretly and used saccharine instead of sugar in his coffee. He had been fearful that if anyone aboard the ship learned he was a diabetic, he would be barred from going to sea—a fear which he was to learn was entirely groundless.