“And then?”
“Well,” the old man croaked with his small eyes twinkling in the semi-darkness, “the customer generally jays pretty dearly for the article.”
“Which means that an entry is made in the poison-register which is not altogether the truth—eh?”
He smiled and nodded.
“When poisons are sold at a high price,” the old herbalist answered, “the vendor has no desire to know for what purpose the drug is to be used. It is generally supposed that it is to kill vermin—you understand.”
“And human beings are more often the victims?” I hazarded.
He raised his grey, shaggy brows with an expression of affected ignorance, answering—
“Who can tell? The herbs or drugs are sold unlabelled, and wrapped in blank paper. As far as the herbalist is concerned, his liability is at an end, just as a cutler sells razors, or a gun-maker revolvers.”
“And do you really believe that there is much secret poisoning in London at this moment?” I inquired, greatly interested.
“Believe it?” he echoed. “Why, there’s no doubt of it. Why do people buy certain herbs which can be used for no other purpose than the destruction of human life?”