"Don't laugh," said Leam with her Spanish dignity: "I am serious. You should not laugh when I am serious."
"I did not mean to offend you," faltered Alick humbly. "Will you forgive me?"
"Yes," said Leam superbly, "if you will not laugh again. Tell me about poison."
"What can I tell you? I scarcely know what it is you want to hear."
"What is poison?"
"Strychnine, opium, prussic acid, belladonna, aconite—oh, thousands of things."
"How do they kill?"
"Well, strychnine gives awful pain and convulsions—makes the back into an arch; opium sends you to sleep; prussic acid stops the action of the heart; and so on."
"What is that?" asked Leam, pointing to the small phial with its snake-like spiral label.
"Prussic acid—awfully strong. Two drops of that would kill the strongest man in a moment."