"Then I'll explain," said Fanks, composedly. "Melstane died from taking a morphia pill, which was placed in a box of tonic pills by some unknown person."
"And what's that got to do with me?"
"Everything," said Axton, suddenly speaking. "Remember the story you told at Mr. Marson's the other day. You had the box of tonic pills in your possession for a time, and—"
"Oh," interrupted Spolger, very indignantly. "And I suppose you'll say that I put the morphia pill into the box in order to kill Melstane!"
"That's the idea," said Fanks, coolly.
"A very ridiculous one."
"I don't see it. You did not like Melstane, because he was loved by Miss Marson. You use morphia for your 'Soother,' so what was to prevent your acting as you suggest?"
"Don't—don't!" cried Spolger, putting out his shaking hands with a sudden movement of terror. "You'll argue the rope round my neck before I can defend myself. I did not like Melstane, certainly, but I had not the slightest idea of killing him. I'll swear it."
Fanks suddenly arose to his feet, and walked across the room to a shelf whereon were displayed a number of drugs in glass bottles. The invalid had risen to his feet, and was looking steadily at him, while Axton, similarly fascinated by Fanks' actions, leaned forward to see what he was doing.
The detective's hand hovered lightly over the array of bottles, then suddenly swooped down with the swiftness of a hawk upon one which he bore to the table. It was a large glass bottle half filled with a white powder, and labelled "Morphia."