Had either man looked toward the window near which they were sitting, he would have seen a black shadow squatting ape-like on the window ledge. As Kent leaned over to relight his cigar, the face at the window vanished, to cautiously reappear a second later.
“The case piqued my interest,” continued the detective after a pause. “And I made an investigation on my own hook. After the departure of the McIntyre twins and Coroner Penfield, I went back to the court room and poked around the prisoners' cage. There I found this.” He took out of his pocket a small bundle and carefully unwrapped the oil-skin cover.
“A handkerchief?” questioned Kent as the detective did not unfold the white muslin, but held it with care.
“Yes. One of the prisoners in the cage told me Turnbull dropped it as Dr. Stone and the deputy marshal carried him into the ante-room. Smell anything?” holding up the handkerchief.
“Yes.” Kent wrinkled his nose and sniffed several times. “Smells like fruit.”
Ferguson nodded. “Good guess; I noticed the odor and went at once to Dr. McLane. He told me the handkerchief was saturated with amyl nitrite.”
“Amyl nitrite,” repeated Kent reflectively. “It is given for angina pectoris.”
“Yes. Well, in this case it was the remedy and not the disease which killed Turnbull,” announced Ferguson triumphantly.
“Nonsense!” ejaculated Kent. “I happen to know that the capsules contain only three minims—I once heard Turnbull say so.”
“True, but Turnbull got a lethal dose, all right; and he thought he was taking only the regular one. Devilishly ingenious on the part of the criminal, wasn't it?