Suddenly a ray of bright light shot through the window. Gorman started and drew back in alarm. It was only a lamp-lighter who had lighted one of the street-lamps, and the ray which he had thus sent into the sick-chamber passed over the bed. It did not disturb Boone, for the curtains were between him and it, but it disturbed Gorman, for it fell on the chimney-piece and illuminated a group of phials, one of which, half full of a black liquid, was labelled “Poison!”
Gorman started up, and this time did not sit down, but with a trembling step moved to the fireplace. He stretched out his hand to grasp the bottle, and almost overturned it, for just at the moment his own figure intercepted the ray of light, and threw the spot where it stood into deep shadow.
“What’s that?” asked Boone.
“It’s only me,” said Gorman, “getting you your physic. I almost upset it in the dark. Here now, drink it off. I can’t find the cup, but you can take it out of the bottle.”
“You won’t let him come near when you give it, will you?” asked Boone anxiously.
“No, no; come, open your mouth.”
Boone hesitated to do so, but Gorman used a little force. His hands were steady now! His heart was steeled to the deed, and the cry which Boone was about to utter was choked by the liquid flowing down his throat.
Gorman had flung him back with such violence that he lay stunned, while the murderer replaced the bottle on the chimney-piece and hurried to the door. A gentle knock at it arrested him, but his indecision was momentary. He opened the door softly, and going out, said to Mrs Craw in a whisper—
“He’s sleeping now. I found it hard to get him to give up talking, for he waked up soon after I went in; but he’s all right now. I suppose the medicine is beginning to operate; he told me he took it himself just before I came in.”
“Took it himself!” exclaimed Mrs Craw. “Impossible.”