The Signor nodded.
“But a deadly poison, mixed with three drops of St. Mark’s balsam?”
“Right!” assented the Italian.
“And combined with any vegetable substance, its very odour would be dangerous and even fatal to animal life?”
“You are an apt pupil,” said the other, not without approval, though he turned paler still. “It took me seven weeks’ close study, and a hundred experiments, to find that out.”
“You worked with the glass mask on, of course,” continued the Abbé; “what would have been the effect had you inhaled the odour?”
“I should have come out in red spots at the first inspiration, turned black at the second, and at the third Monsieur l’Abbé should have been lost to the world, to science, and to you,” was the conclusive reply.
“I am not quite satisfied yet,” said Malletort. “I will take a packet home with me for further examination, if you please, and ten drops of St. Mark’s balsam as well.”
“It is worth a thousand francs a drop,” observed the adept, producing at the same time a tiny sealed phial from a drawer under his hand.
“Of course you name your own price,” replied Malletort, snatching up his purchase with impatience, and leaving in its place a purse through which the gold shone temptingly, and which clanked down on the table as if the weight of its lining was satisfactory enough.