Penfield regarded Grant in silence for a minute. “That is all,” he announced, and with a polite bow the deputy marshal withdrew.
Detective Ferguson recognized Kent as he passed up the room to the platform and gave him a slight bow and smile, but the smile had disappeared when, at the coroner's request, he told of his arrival just after the discovery of the burglar's identity.
“I searched the cage where the prisoner had been seated and found this handkerchief,” he went on to say. “It had been dropped by Turnbull and was saturated with amyl nitrite. I had it examined by a chemist, who said that this amyl nitrite was given to patients with heart trouble in little pearl capsules to be crushed in handkerchiefs and the fumes inhaled.
“The chemist also told me that”—the detective spoke with impressive seriousness, “judging from the number of particles of capsules adhering to the linen, more than one capsule had been crushed by Turnbull. Here is the handkerchief,” and he laid it on the table with great care.
Kent's heart sank; the moment he had dreaded all that long afternoon had come. Penfield inspected the handkerchief with interest, and then passed it to the jurors, cautioning them to handle it carefully.
“I note,” he stated, turning again to Detective Ferguson, “that it is a woman's handkerchief.”
“It is,” replied Ferguson. “And embroidered in one corner is the initial 'B.'”
Penfield ran his fingers through his gray hair. “You may go, Ferguson,” he said, and beckoned to the morgue master. “Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre to return.”
The girl was quick in answering the summons. Kent, more and more worried, was watching the scene with painful attention.
“Did Mr. Turnbull have one of your handkerchiefs?” asked Penfield.