“Because I poured a few drops from that bottle into my hand when I first found Collishaw and tasted the stuff,” answered Bryce readily. “Cold tea! with too much sugar in it. There was no H.C.N. in that besides, wherever it is, there's always a smell stronger or fainter—of bitter almonds. There was none about that bottle.”
“Yet you were very anxious that we should take care of the bottle?” observed Mitchington.
“Of course!—because I suspected the use of some much rarer poison than that,” retorted Bryce. “Pooh!—it's a clumsy way of poisoning anybody!—quick though it is.”
“Well, there's where it is!” said Mitchington. “That'll be the medical evidence at the inquest, anyway. That's how it was done. And the question now is—”
“Who did it?” interrupted Bryce. “Precisely! Well—I'll say this much at once, Mitchington. Whoever did it was either a big bungler—or damned clever! That's what I say!”
“I don't understand you,” said Mitchington.
“Plain enough—my meaning,” replied Bryce, smiling. “To finish anybody with that stuff is easy enough—but no poison is more easily detected. It's an amateurish way of poisoning anybody—unless you can do it in such a fashion that no suspicion can attach you to. And in this case it's here—whoever administered that poison to Collishaw must have been certain—absolutely certain, mind you!—that it was impossible for any one to find out that he'd done so. Therefore, I say what I said—the man must be damned clever. Otherwise, he'd be found out pretty quick. And all that puzzles me is—how was it administered?”
“How much would kill anybody—pretty quick?” asked Mitchington.
“How much? One drop would cause instantaneous death!” answered Bryce. “Cause paralysis of the heart, there and then, instantly!”
Mitchington remained silent awhile, looking meditatively at Bryce. Then he turned to a locked drawer, produced a key, and took something out of the drawer—a small object, wrapped in paper.