It was apparent that every man felt from the minute William began speaking that he was innocent. During his interrogation they had relaxed.
In the interim between his exit and the entrance of Peter Rathbone, Chief Pharmacist, the tension had fallen considerably.
“Baldy” Rathbone shook them out of a reverie.
He had a body like a triangle upside down. His wide shoulders showed strength and assurance. He was a youngish middle-aged man. A spreading part ran up the center of his scalp and connected his wide forehead with the bald spot on top.
He had been raised an orphan and worked his way through college at night, and then worked his way up at the Elijah Wilson. There was a sense of definite knowledge about the face and figure. His eyes bore the marks of childhood suffering, but his smile heartened the men.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
His voice was a deep resonant baritone.
“Sit down, Baldy,” Dr. MacArthur motioned to the “witness chair”; then a deep blush steeped his face, and he smiled. Rathbone returned the smile, took the chair, and ran his eyes over the staff. He had never seen any of them so perturbed.
Dr. MacArthur said carefully:
“Er ... er ... Rathbone, did you check the prescriptions?”