Arnbush was fatigued with the long climb, and he at once sat down.
The chemist came directly to the point; he made no disquisition on his wealthy patron, the hour, or the affair.
“I have discovered the thing you are seeking,” he said. “I will show it to you.”
He took a little glass tube from a rack before him and held it under the light. It was partly filled with a thick, viscous, golden-colored stuff.
“That is circine,” he said. “It is the element of virtue in all distillations. In alcohol,” he continued, “one finds it imperfectly produced. This sample I am showing you is pure.”
He rose, got a glass, filled it halfway with water from a spigot, added a drop of the fluid from the tube and handed it to Arnbush.
“Drink that,” he said.
The golden-colored essence had disappeared completely into the water, making a rich amber liquid, and the man thought that he was about to taste something peculiar or unpleasant.
He got the staggering shake-up of his life.
At the first touch of the liquid to his tongue, the man paused, removed the glass, and sat back in his chair, looking in wonder at the chemist.