"Dead," whispered Prout, "dead instantly. It was prussic acid. The whole room reeks of it. Perhaps it was as well to finish it this way. There'll be an inquest now, and the whole business will come out."
They laid the body on a sofa, and the trio left the Corner House. They were very silent as they walked along.
"Some houses are accursed," Charlton said at length. "Mine has been the abode of mystery and crime for years. I shall never enter it again.
"And may this be the last of the evils connected with my house."
"Swift and sure," she said,
"it's prusic----" --Page 314
"Must attend the inquest, sir," said the practical Prout. "Still, if that was my house, I'd pull it down if I couldn't sell it."
Gordon Bruce was returning from an important consultation when he first heard the news. It was the sensation of the hour. Public attention in the Corner House mystery had never relaxed; on the flight of Countess Lalage it had doubled. Where had she gone, and what was the true solution of the mystery were the only questions asked.
And here it was all out in the lurid light of day. Dramatic arrest of the Countess. The suicide and confession. It was flaring in the evening papers--the boys were yelling at the top of their voices in the street. The din of it filled Bruce's ears. "Confession of the crime." "The confession of the murder." "The mystery of the motor explained." "Dr. Bruce cleared of the cruel charge." It seemed strange to Gordon to hear his name yelled out like this in his own ears. He had a paper thrust into his hands.
He bought one eagerly enough, and stood spellbound on the pavement whilst he read. It was all here, even down to a signed copy of the confession. Lawrence had seen to that. Bruce turned into his club in a dazed kind of way. The smoking-room was full, he was the centre of a group, all of which seemed eager to shake hands. It was all so sudden that Bruce was not himself yet.