Dr Gollipeck rose and walked to and fro in the little clear space left among the disorder.
‘What a devil you are!’ he said, looking at Vandeloup admiringly.
‘What, because I did not poison this woman?’ he said, in a mocking tone. ‘Bah! you are less moral than I thought you were.’
The doctor did not take any notice of this sneer, but, putting his hands in his pockets, faced round to the young man.
‘I give my evidence to-morrow,’ he said quietly, looking keenly at the young man, ‘and I prove conclusively the woman was poisoned. To do this, I must refer to the case of Adele Blondet, and then that implicates you.’
‘Pardon me,’ observed Vandeloup, coolly, removing some ash from his velvet coat, ‘it implicates Octave Braulard, who is at present,’ with a sharp look at Gollipeck, ‘in New Caledonia.’
‘If that is the case,’ asked the doctor, gruffly, ‘who are you?’
‘I am the friend of Braulard,’ said Vandeloup, in a measured tone. ‘Myself, Braulard, and Prevol—one of the writers of the book you refer to—were medical students together, and we all three emphatically knew about this poison extracted from hemlock.’
He spoke so quietly that Gollipeck looked at him in a puzzled manner, not understanding his meaning.
‘You mean Braulard and Prevol were medical students?’ he said, doubtfully.