“Do you know anything of this label?” he said, thrusting it into the chemist’s hands.
“Yes,” said the man, after looking at it for a moment; “it is the label of a bottle of laudanum which I sold yesterday morning to Mr Bruce of Saint Werner’s.”
Without a word, Kennedy snatched it from him, and rushed back to the Seniority, who were already beginning to wonder at his long absence. He threw down the piece of paper before. Mr Norton, who handed it to the Master.
“I found that, sir, on the floor of my room.”
“And you know nothing of it?”
“Yes. It belongs to a bottle purchased yesterday by Bruce.”
Amazement and horror seemed to struggle in the minds of the old clergymen and lecturers as they sat at the table.
“We must send instantly for this young man,” said Mr Norton; and in ten minutes Bruce entered, pale indeed, but in a faultless costume, with a bow of easy grace, and a smile of polite recognition towards such of the board as he personally knew. He was totally unaware of what had been going on during Kennedy’s cross-examination.
“Mr Bruce,” said Mr Norton, to whom they all seemed gladly to resign the task of discovering the truth, “do you know anything of the cause of Lord De Vayne’s sudden attack of illness last night?”
“I, sir? Certainly not.”