“Don’t taunt me, Smith!” I said bitterly. “Is it some species of bird?”
“You saw the marks on Forsyth’s body, and I told you of those which I had traced upon the ground here. They were caused by claws, Petrie!”
“Claws! I thought so! But what claws?”
“The claws of a poisonous thing. I recaptured the one used last night, killed it—against my will—and buried it on the mound. I was afraid to throw it in the pond, lest some juvenile fisherman should pull it out and sustain a scratch. I don’t know how long the claws would remain venomous.”
“You are treating me like a child, Smith,” I said slowly. “No doubt I am hopelessly obtuse, but perhaps you will tell me what this Chinaman carried in a leather bag and released upon Forsyth. It was something which you recaptured, apparently with the aid of a plate of cold turbot and a jug of milk! It was something, also, which Karamaneh had been sent to recapture with the aid—”
I stopped.
“Go on,” said Nayland Smith, turning the ray to the left, “what did she have in the basket?”
“Valerian,” I replied mechanically.
The ray rested upon the lithe creature that I had shot down.
It was a black cat!