I took one of my strongest glasses and one of my finest probes. Under the glass, I could see on Ricori's
breast a minute puncture, no larger than that made by a hypodermic needle. Carefully I inserted the
probe. It slipped easily in and in until it touched the wall of the heart. I went no further.
Some needle-pointed, exceedingly fine instrument had been thrust through Ricori's breast straight into his
heart!
I looked at him, doubtfully; there was no reason why such a minute puncture should cause death. Unless,
of course, the weapon which had made it had been poisoned; or there had been some other violent
shock which had contributed to that of the wound itself. But such shock or shocks might very well bring
about in a person of Ricori's peculiar temperament some curious mental condition, producing an almost
perfect counterfeit of death. I had heard of such cases.