“I hear,” he said, with a broad and seraphic smile, “that in this hotel there has to-day a murder been committed.”
Baron von Opperman was suddenly the cynosure of several pairs of eyes. He was delighted with the success of his attempt towards the general entertainment.
“The evening papers,” he continued, “they have in them news of a sudden death. But in the hotel here now they are speaking of something—what you call more—mysterious. There has been ordered an examination post-mortem!”
“It is a case of poisoning then, I presume?” the Prince asked, leaning forward.
“It is so supposed,” the attache answered. “It seems that the doctors could find no trace of disease, nothing to have caused death. They were not able to decide anything. The man, they said, was in perfect health—but dead.”
“It must have been, then,” the Prince remarked, “a very wonderful poison.”
“Without doubt,” Baron Opperman answered.
The Prince sighed gently.
“There are many such,” he murmured. “Indeed the science of toxicology was never so ill-understood as now. I am assured that there are many poisons known only to a few chemists in the world, a single grain of which is sufficient to destroy the strongest man and leave not the slightest trace behind. If the poisoner be sufficiently accomplished he can pursue his—calling without the faintest risk of detection.”
Mr. Sabin sipped his wine thoughtfully.