"It is seldom, if ever, used for suicides." Stone spoke with more a.s.surance. "I have found in my practice, Kent, that suicides can be cla.s.sed as follows: drowning by the young, pistols by the adult, and hanging by the aged; women generally prefer asphyxiation, using illuminating gas. But this is beside the question, unless"--bending a penetrating look at his companion--"unless you believe Jimmie Turnbull committed suicide."

"That idea has occurred to me," admitted Kent. "But it doesn't square with other facts which have developed, nor is it in keeping with the character of the man."

"Men who suffer from a mortal disease sometimes commit desperate acts, not at all in accord with their previous conduct," responded Stone gravely. "Come, Kent, you have not answered my question. Why did you wish information about this box of aconitine pills prescribed for Mrs.

Brewster during her attack of neuralgia?"

"You have just stated that aconitine is not usually administered to murder a person," Kent spoke seriously, choosing his words with care.

"Do you wonder then, that I consider it more than a coincidence that Jimmie Turnbull should have died from a dose of that poison, and that the drug should have been prescribed for one of the inmates of the house he visited shortly before his death?"

The physician sat upright, his face had grown gray. "Mr. Kent," he commenced indignantly, "are you aware what you are insinuating? Are you, also, aware that Mrs. Brewster is my cousin, a charming, honorable woman, without a stain on her character?"

Kent set the bottom of the box containing the pills in front of the doctor.

"I have found out that this box, with its dangerous drug, was left on the hall table in the McIntyre house; apparently any one had access to its contents, therefore my remarks are not directed against Mrs.

Brewster any more than against any person in the McIntyre household, from the Colonel to the servants. I found these three pills at the McIntyre house this morning; how many did your prescription call for?"

Stone picked up the small pills and, as he balanced them in his palm, his manner grew more alert. Suddenly he dropped two back in the box and touched the third pill with the tip of his tongue; not content with that he crushed it in his fingers, sniffed the drug, and again tested it with his tongue. His expression was peculiar as he looked up at Kent.

"These are not aconitine pills," he stated positively. "They are nitro-glycerine. How did they get in this box?"

Kent rubbed his chin in bewilderment. The box bearing the aconitine label and the pills had all rolled out of the china umbrella stand, and he had taken it for granted that the pills belonged in the box.

"I found them loose in the same receptacle," he explained. "And concluded they were what remained of the aconitine pills which Grimes, the McIntyre butler, said he left on the hall table Sunday afternoon."

Stone smiled with what Kent, who was watching him closely, judged to be an odd mixture of relief and apprehension.

"You could not have found more dissimilar medicine to go in this pill box, although the two kinds of pills are identical in color and size," he said. "Aconitine depresses the heart action while the other stimulates it."

The physician's statement fell on deaf ears. Raising his head after contemplating the pills, Kent had looked across the room and his glance had fallen on a wing chair, standing just inside the doorway of the living room, and thrown partly in shadow by the portieres. The wing of the chair appeared to move. Kent rubbed his eyes and looking again, caught the same slight movement.

Bounding toward the chair Kent saw that the brown shape which he had mistaken for part of the tufted upholstery was the sleek brown hair of a man's well-shaped head. He halted abruptly on meeting the gaze of a pair of mocking eyes.

"Rochester?" he gasped unbelievingly. "Rochester!"

His partner laughed softly as Stone approached. "I have been an interested listener," he said. "Let me complete the good doctor's argument. Nitro-glycerine would have benefitted Jimmie Turnbull and his feeble heart; whereas the missing aconitine pills killed him."

Stone regarded him with severity. "How did you get in this apartment?"

he demanded, declining the challenge Rochester had offered in addressing his opinion of Turnbull's death directly to him.

Rochester dangled his bunch of keys in the physician's face and smiled at his excited partner. "If you two hadn't been so absorbed in your conversation you would have heard me walk in," he remarked.

"Where have you been?" demanded Kent, partly recovering from his astonishment which had deprived him of speech.

"I decided to take a vacation at a moment's notice." Rochester spoke with the same slow drawl which was characteristic of him. "You should be accustomed to my eccentricities by this time, Harry."

"We are," announced Detective Ferguson from the hallway, where he and Nelson had been silent witnesses of the scene. "And we'll give you a chance to explain them in the police court."

"On what charge?" demanded Rochester.

"Poisoning your room-mate, Mr. Turnbull," replied the detective, drawing out a pair of handcuffs. "You are mighty clever, Mr. Rochester. I've got to hand it to you for your mysterious disappearances in and out of this apartment, and for murdering Mr. Turnbull right in the police court in the presence of the judge, police officials, and spectators."

Kent stepped forward at sight of the handcuffs and laid a restraining hand on the detective's shoulder. Rochester saw the movement, guessed Kent's intention, and smiled.

"We can settle the case here," he said cheerfully. "No need of troubling the police judge. Now, Mr. Detective, how did I kill Jimmie Turnbull before all those people without any one becoming aware of the fact?"

"Slipped the poison in the gla.s.s of water you handed him," answered Ferguson promptly. "A nervy sleight-of-hand, but you'll swing for it."

Rochester's smile was exasperating as he turned to Dr. Stone.

"Judging from Stone's remarks about aconitine--which I overheard," he interpolated. "I gather the doctor is tolerably familiar with the action of the drug. Does aconitine kill instantly, doctor?"

Stone cleared his throat before speaking. "No; the fatal period averages about four hours," he said, and Rochester's eyes sparkled as he looked up at the detective.

"Jimmie died almost immediately after I handed him that drink of water,"

he declared. "If you wish to know who administered that aconitine poison, you will have to find out who Jimmie was with at the McIntyre house in the early hours of Tuesday morning."

The sharp imperative ring of the telephone bell cut the silence which followed. Kent, standing nearest the instrument, picked it up, and recognized Sylvester's voice over the wire.

"A message has just come, Mr. Kent," he called, "from Mrs. Brewster saying that she will be in your office at four o'clock."

CHAPTER XIX. THE RED SEAL AGAIN

Harry Kent inserted his key in his office door with more vigor than good judgment, and spent some seconds in re-adjusting it in the lock. Once inside the office he put up the latch and closed the door. A glance around the empty office showed him that Sylvester had obeyed his telephone instructions and gone out to luncheon.

Kent noted with satisfaction as he put his hat and cane in the coat closet that he had over two hours before Mrs. Brewster's expected arrival; ample time in which to consider in quietude the events of the past few days, and plan for his interview with the pretty widow. He had spent the time between Rochester's sudden reappearance and a hastily swallowed lunch at a downtown cafe, in arranging bail for Rochester.

Ferguson had proved obdurate and had persisted in taking the lawyer to Police Headquarters.

Dr. Stone had accompanied the trio, and his testimony, supported by two chemists, regarding the time required for aconitine poison to act, had gone far to weaken the detective's case against Rochester.

Rochester, to Kent's unbounded astonishment, had appeared indifferent to the whole proceedings; and to his partner's urgent inquiries as to where he had spent the past four days, and why he had disappeared, he had returned one invariable answer.

"I'll explain in good time, Harry," and it was not until they were leaving Police Headquarters that his apathy vanished.

"When are you to see Mrs. Brewster?" he asked.

"She will be at our office at four o'clock. Say, Phil"--but Rochester, shaking off his detaining hand, darted across the street and sprang into a pa.s.sing taxi bearing the sign, "For Hire," and that was the last Kent had seen of his elusive partner.

Kent dropped into his chair and glanced askance at the mail piled in neat array on his desk; he was not in a frame of mind to handle routine office business. Other clients would have to wait until later in the day. A memorandum pad, bearing a message in Sylvester's precise penmanship attracted his wandering attention and he picked it up.

"Mr. Kent:" he read. "Colonel McIntyre called just after I talked with you on the 'phone; he waited in your office for half an hour, then left, stating he would come back. Miss Barbara McIntyre called immediately afterwards, but would not wait more than five minutes. Mr. Clymer came as she was going out and left a note on your desk. I will return soon.

"SYLVESTER."

Kent laid down the pad and picked up a twisted three-cornered note bearing his name in pencil. Unfolding it, he scanned the hurriedly written lines:

"Dear Kent--McIntyre telephoned there were new developments in the Turnbull affair. Will be back later.