Cardona nodded thoughtfully.
“I get your drift,” he said. “Here in New York, we have only the bomb-throwers and their type. But in this case — with international affairs at stake — it may be that a more elaborate plot has been arranged—”
“I regard it as possible,” declared Blake.
“We haven’t had much luck on the poison,” lamented Cardona. “The toxicologist has found out its general nature, but he can’t place it. He figures it works slowly at first; then suddenly. That gives us no help. It might have been given to Farmington at lunch — in the morning, as early as breakfast—”
“Or the night before?”
“No. That would have been impossible. Not earlier than the morning — even then, not too early.”
“What clews have you discovered?”
“None.”
Cardona tossed a typewritten report to the secret-service man. It was a record of the detective’s conversation with Philip Farmington.
“Have you discovered anything in Farmington’s little office, that you mention here?”