The doctor agreed, adding in confirmation:
“None of these darts came near a vital spot. Alone, they’d never have killed a man.”
“Can you guess what poison was used?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Not my line. Some of these Indian arrow-poisons, perhaps. Ardsley could tell you something about them, most likely.”
“Who’s Ardsley? Could one get hold of him quickly?”
“He lives less than a mile from here. He’s a medical; but he doesn’t practise. Curiously enough, toxicology is his line, more or less. He’s a bit of a physiologist, too. I know he has a vivisection licence. You might do worse than look him up. He might be able to give you a hint.”
Sir Clinton looked thoughtful for a moment.
“What worries me is that a man can’t be in two places at once. I’m going to take over this case myself, and there’s enough work on hand in the next hour to keep two men busy. It’s time I’m up against at present.”
The doctor, reflecting on the conflicting calls of a country Practice, was inclined to think that Sir Clinton seemed to make a fuss about very little.