“We might have saved him for a prison term or the gallows,” replied the doctor, a bit sardonically. “You haven’t seen this, of course.”
He took a small silver pencil from the table and handed it to the detective.
“What’s that got to do with—”
“Open it! Unscrew the top. Careful!”
Hoyne unscrewed it gingerly and saw that the chamber, which was made to hold extra leads, was filled with a white powder.
“Arsenic,” said the doctor, briefly. “Did you notice the sickly pallor of that girl—the dark rings under her eyes? Her loving uncle and guardian was slowly poisoning her, increasing the doses from time to time. In another month or six weeks she would have been dead, and Ritsky, her nearest living relative, would have inherited her immense fortune.”
“Well I’ll be damned!” exploded Hoyne.
Doctor Dorp’s laboratory assistant entered and handed a package of prints to his employer.
“Here are the proofs of last night’s photographs,” said the doctor. “Care to see them?”
Hoyne took them to the window and scrutinized them carefully.