It was an all-night drug-store, and the one clerk readily gave the information desired. He had known Filbon as a customer for many years, and the poison had been sold upon the representation that it was to be used for the asthma, with which Filbon's mother was afflicted. "Diluted with water, it is often used by asthmatics," said the clerk, "as it gives quick relief." When informed that the poison had been used for quite a different purpose, the clerk was horrified.
Nick Carter could do no more that night. He sought his room in Jefferson Avenue, but was an early riser. At nine o'clock next morning he called at the office of the manufacturing company. It was closed. He went away, returning at ten o'clock. In response to his knock, the door was opened by Gabriel Leonard. His face was pale, and there were dark circles about his eyes. He did not greet the detective with his usual heartiness.
"Where is Dashwood?" was Nick's first question.
"I don't know," was the answer, in a half-angry manner.
"Didn't Dashwood go home last night?"
"No. I haven't seen him since early yesterday afternoon."
Leonard passed a trembling hand over his forehead, met Nick's frowning gaze for an instant, and then his eyes sought the floor.