Ardsley took the dart and examined it for a moment or two. Then he put questions about the state of the bodies and the times, which Sir Clinton was able to furnish.
“H’m!” he said at last. “I think, from what you say, that I might make a guess at it. It’s obviously one of these arrow-poisons or something of that sort; perhaps a strophanthus derivative or a member of the strychnos group.”
“Can you give me anything more definite?” Sir Clinton demanded, rather anxiously. “Time’s the main factor with me just now. I know these vegetable things are the very devil to spot; but it’s honestly a matter of life or death, and I want something definite if you can give me it.”
Ardsley frowned slightly as he examined the dart.
“Can you spare this? I mean, to examine it, chemically—and otherwise. I can’t promise to let you have it back intact, you know.”
“Give me information, that’s all I ask.”
“Very good.”
He paused for a moment.
“You won’t want to let this out of your sight, I suppose. Then you’d better come along to my laboratory. Luckily I have a guinea-pig in stock.”
He glanced under his eyebrows at Wendover.