“Ah, indeed. Well, I’ll assist in pushing the clock hands forward.” Burnham paused to sip some water from a glass on the bedstand; his throat was getting dry. When he addressed his companions he spoke with deliberate impressiveness. “The dead man was murdered in mistake for me,” he began. “And by the same man who on Thursday night again tried to kill me, that time by shooting.”
Mitchell bent eagerly forward. “Who is this man?”
“René La Montagne of France.”
“You lie!” Evelyn, her eyes blazing with wrath, shook the bed to emphasize her words. “You lie!”
“I don’t!” Burnham glared back at her and smiled triumphantly. “I can prove my statement. Take down the charge, Mitchell.”
“One moment.” Hayden rose. “Let us talk this over a bit, Burnham. You say that the unidentified dead man was murdered in mistake for you by Captain La Montagne. Did Captain La Montagne know you by sight then?”
“Of course he did,” testily. “We met years ago in Paris.”
Hayden shook his head in bewilderment. “Then your theory that La Montagne mistook this unidentified dead man for you, Burnham, hardly is borne out by the medical evidence.”
“What d’ye mean?” The question shot from Burnham, down whose hot face perspiration was trickling.
“Why, simply that the man was killed by a dose of hydrocyanic acid.” Hayden spoke deliberately to make sure the excited man understood him. “If these two men were drinking together, as seems a natural supposition, La Montagne would have known his companion was not you and would not have administered the poison. He wasn’t shooting at you in the dark.”