The Sergeant cocked an eye at him. “The Vereker Case,” he said.
“The Vereker Case! That was a stabbing affair!”
“I'm not saying it wasn't, but when I got the hang of the decor here, and a squint at some of the dramatic persome that's what flashed across my mind.”
“What I don't like about it,” said the Inspector slowly, “is this nicotine. It seems to me the doctors don't properly understand it, judging from that report you showed me, Superintendent. I mean, if there wasn't no more than a slight trace of it in the stomach, so as to make them think he can't have swallowed much, and yet they find by the state of the blood—and the mouth, wasn't it?—that —”
“Mucous membrane and tongue,” interjected the Sergeant knowledgeably. “They tell me you always look for nicotine in the mouth. Liver and kidneys too. It's a mystery to me why anyone wants to be a doctor.”
“Well, what I'm getting at is how did he have all that poison in his innards?” said the Inspector.
“It is quite possible,” said Hannasyde, “that he didn't swallow any poison at all.”
“What?” demanded the Inspector.
“Cases have been known,” continued Hannasyde, “where nicotine has either been injected subcutaneously, or even absorbed through the skin, with fatal results. There was apparently an instance once, years ago, of a whole squadron of Hussars being made ill by trying to smuggle tobacco next to their skins.”
“There you are! What did I tell you?” said the Sergeant. “Nice, simple case we've got when we don't even know whether the poor fellow drank the dope or had it poured over him! One thing, it looks as though whoever did the murder knew a bit about poisons.”