At this moment the door was pushed roughly open and Dentham made his appearance in swaggering triumph.
"Well," he said, rubbing his lean hands together, "have you made up your mind?"
"Yes, I have," answered Adrian, holding the phial closely in his hand. "I have made up my mind not to give a scoundrel like you one penny."
"Then I'll have you arrested," yelled Dentham, furious at seeing his chance of making money fading away.
"You will not arrest me," replied his master with a strange smile, "for I will be far beyond the reach of your malice. Bring in your detectives as soon as you like, for they will only find a dead body."
Dentham, seeing his intention, darted forward to stop him, with a cry of anger, but Adrian was too quick for him, and raising the phial to his lips, drank off the contents.
The valet recoiled as he did so, for an awful change passed over the face of his master—the thin hands plucked wildly at the grey beard, and with a choking cry Dr. Roversmire fell down on the floor—dead.
And the clock struck nine.