Burnham, who had been brooding over the coroner’s remarks, stopped his restless walk about the room, and thereby collided with James Palmer, whose bulky form dwarfed Mrs. Burnham’s Empire furniture.
“Why’d you tell me in the hall that you held an inquest and then deny it in here?” he asked. “Was it because Evelyn was present?”
“No, Mr. Burnham; you have things mixed,” protested Penfield. “I never mentioned an inquest, but said we had held an autopsy.”
“Ah, and with what results?” asked Hayden. “Or is it not permissible to tell now?”
“Oh, no; it will be in the morning papers, so I am breaking no confidence,” Penfield moved nearer the five men who had grouped themselves about the grand piano. “On submitting the gastric contents to tests we found the presence of a solution of hydrocyanic acid.”
Maynard broke the ensuing silence. “Hydrocyanic acid,” he repeated. “Isn’t that a form of prussic acid?”
“Yes; and in a diluted form sometimes given for stomach disorders,” responded Penfield. At his answer Burnham sat down suddenly as if stricken. His action was only observed by Hayden and Palmer, Penfield’s attention being focused upon Maynard who stood gazing at him across the piano with expressionless face.
“Prussic acid,” he murmured. “Ah, Penfield, that bears out my theory.”
“And what is your theory?” demanded Mitchell quickly, bending forward.
“That the man committed suicide.” Seeing the incredulity with which his statement was received, Maynard added: “Had the man been murdered he would instantly have detected the presence of prussic acid—there is no disguising the taste of bitter almonds.”