"You know that he was murdered?"
Bergan looked surprised. "I know there was talk of suicide," said he, "but I thought it was decided that he was poisoned by mistake."
"He was murdered," asserted Doctor Trubie, getting his teeth, "foully murdered by the man who professed to be his friend,—a man who wrote a hand as much like this Doctor Remy's as one side of your face is like the other. I charged him with it, at the time, and I have always believed that I should live to see the charge proven." And he finished by giving a succinct account of the circumstances attending Alec Arling's death.
Bergan listened attentively and critically, as became his legal training. "I do not understand why the finding of the diamond was such conclusive evidence of guilt," said he, when the doctor paused.
"Because Roath swore, at the inquest, that he did not touch either bottle or glass, and did not even go to that end of the table. That was where he overreached himself; without that, the stone in the glass would not have been such a damning circumstance. He recognized it as such himself;—else why did he fly?"
"Well, you may be right about the murder," said Bergan, after a little consideration, "but I think you have mistaken the man."
"Let us see," said Doctor Trubie. "He is about my height?"
"Yes,—perhaps a little taller."
"He stoops a little?"
"Not at all, he is uncommonly erect."