"Got a big idea, Teddy—biggest idea I ever had—you know that?"
"Glad to hear it," and I scratched away at my list.
"Makin' notes, Ted? That's right—always keep your notes," and he roared a drunken laugh. He walked over to one of the experiments and smelt the beaker cautiously. He was evidently satisfied his plan was working, for he laughed long and loudly again. "That's good stuff, Ted. Bril-brilliant idea—if it works. You must keep careful notes on that ex—experiment."
I looked at him. "You are a great chemist, Mr. de Fougère, but even I know enough to know you can't always tell what's in a beaker by the smell." The sarcasm missed him.
"That's right, Ted—that's right. Best ex-experiments look all right—good theory, but won't work."
He lit a cigarette and hummed a wabbly tune, sitting astride a chair and watching me with his empty leer.
"Why did you wash all the labels off the bottles?" I asked quietly.
"Secrecy, Teddy—secrecy. Important work here—worth millions. Any one could walk in and find out all about it. We know all the bottles, now, Teddy—don't need labels, do we?"
The telephone stood on my desk in front of me, and I meditated calling up Knowlton. Finally I thought better of it, for my play was not to let Prospero know we had any inkling of the truth.
"That's a good idea," I said, "taking off the labels. I never thought of it just that way before."