‘Just so,’ he cried. ‘Captain Keeling, smell you, sir.’
The old skipper applied the bottle to his nostrils and snuffled a little. ‘I should call this a kind of opium,’ said he.
‘If,’ exclaimed Mr. Saunders, ‘it be morion, as I believe it is, it is made from the mandragora or mandrake of the kind that flourishes in Greece and Palestine and in certain parts of the Mediterranean seaboard.’
‘But am I to understand,’ said Keeling, ‘that a dose of it is going to make a man look as dead as if he were killed?’
‘The effect of morion,’ responded Mr. Saunders, ‘is that of suspended animation, scarcely distinguishable from death.’
‘Could it deceive a qualified man such as Dr. Hemmeridge?’ demanded the skipper.
‘I should think it very probable,’ answered little Saunders cautiously; ‘in fact, sir, as we have seen, he was deceived by the effects of that drug, be it morion or anything else.’
‘You can go forward,’ said the captain to Bobbins.
The fellow flourished a hand to his brow and left the cabin.
‘Mr. Saunders, I am obliged to you, sir, for your information,’ continued old Keeling. ‘I trust to have your opinion confirmed either in Bombay or in London. To me it seems a very incredible thing. Mr. Dugdale, I thank you for the trouble you have given yourself to attend here.’