“I suppose you borrowed it to do a mixed melting-point?” Sir Clinton asked.
“Yes. When there's only a trace of a stuff to identify, it's the easiest method. But you seem to know something about chemistry?”
“About enough to make mistakes with, I'm afraid. It simply happened that someone described the mixed melting-point business to me once; and it stuck in my mind. Now suppose we look at this store of yours.”
Markfield led them along a passage and threw open a door at the end.
“In here,” he said.
“You don't keep it locked?” Sir Clinton inquired casually, as he passed in, followed by the Inspector.
“No,” Markfield answered in some surprise. “It's the general chemical store for this department. There's no point in keeping it locked. All our stuffs are here, and it would be a devilish nuisance if one had to fish out a key every time one wanted some chloroform or benzene. We keep the duty-free alcohol locked up, of course. That's necessary under the Customs’ regulations.”
Sir Clinton readily agreed.
“You're all trustworthy people, naturally,” he admitted, “It's not like a place where you have junior students about who might play thoughtless tricks.”
Markfield went over to one of the cases which lined the room, searched along a shelf, and took down a tiny bottle.