“Perfectly. Clip off a small portion of an arm or leg, before embalming, and keep it....” He threw out his hand, “To a toxicologist the synthetic possibility seems increasingly unfeasible. Formulas are too intricate, and the discovery of the murderer that way would be worse than looking for a penny in quicksand. Mean checking every organ of every cadaver....
“Look for the administrator, not the manufacturer. Someone with access to the patients in that bed. Time enough after that person is found to find out....”
He turned to Dr. MacArthur and said, “Any hour night or day, Mac....”
Rathbone, too, rose; his clear baritone filled the room:
“The medicine closets of all floors of Medicine Clinic were searched again today. They reveal no coniine. The syringes check as to number but are useless; the routine boiling eliminates any hope of tracing that way. Is there anything else we can do, sir?”
“No, Rathbone,” MacArthur’s voice was hopeless and affectionate. “I wish there were. Thank both of you, gentlemen.”
They were followed by Dr. Mattus, who came, as Cub had done the day before with a doll tucked under his arm. This time the dolly wore a blue dress and frilled bonnet and said, “Pa-pa. Pa-pa.”
Every man in the room shivered.
“For heaven’s sake turn that damn thing over!” Dr. MacArthur ordered. “Where did you get it?”
“Found it in the desk of Miss Roenna Kerr.”