"It is a powder of some sort," he said; "I told you that I thought the man had been poisoned."
Even as Crate spoke the gaslight went out, leaving them in complete darkness.
"Ah!" said Fanks, rather startled by the unexpected incident, "Mrs. Boazoph is fiddling with the meter."
"What the deuce did she do that for?" asked Crate, as his superior struck a match.
"Can't you guess? She saw these black grains on the tablecloth, and wants to get rid of them. That was why she left the room and turned off the gas. She hopes that the darkness will drive us out. Then she will explain the incident by a lie, and enter before us to relight the gas."
"Well?" said Crate, stolidly.
"Well!" repeated Fanks, crossly. "I shall never make you understand anything, Crate. Before lighting the gas she will pull off the tablecloth and scatter the grains."
"Do you think she's in this, Mr. Fanks?"
"I can't say--yet. But she knows something. You get a candle, and--hang this match," cried Fanks, "it has burnt my fingers."
As he uttered the exclamation the match, still alight, dropped on the table among the black grains to which allusion has been made. There was a flicker, a sparkle of light, and when Fanks struck another match the grains had disappeared.