“Yes. Quite a number,” was the old Professor’s reply. “I am in communication with Doctor Duroc, of the Salpêtrière in Paris, and together we are keeping a record of the cases where orosin is administered by some mysterious hand. Whose, we have no idea. We leave that to the Sûreté. But you say that your adventure and that of mademoiselle occurred in London?”
I repeated my story. Then I ventured to ask:
“Do you, Professor, know anything of a Doctor Moroni, of Florence?”
The white-bearded, shock-haired man reflected for a moment, and then moving in his chair, replied:
“I fancy I have heard his name. Moroni—Moroni? Yes, I am sure someone has mentioned him.”
“As a toxicologist?”
“Probably. I do not really remember. I believe I met him at one of the conferences in Paris or Geneva. He was with one of your English professors—one of your medico-legists whose name at the moment escapes my memory. He gave evidence in that curious case of alleged poison at the Old Bailey, in London, a year ago.”
“But is Doctor Moroni known as an expert in poison?”
“Not to my personal knowledge. Possibly he is, and I have heard his name in that connexion. Why do you ask?”
“Because he has had my friend Miss Tennison under his care. He has taken her to see several specialists in Italy.” Then in a sudden burst of confidence I told him of my great love for the girl who, like myself, had been attacked in secret. Further, I told him that the reason of my steady inquiry was in her interests, as well as in my own.