"So Mr.Rochester contended," admitted Ferguson."We'll let that go for a minute.Now, when Miss McIntyre saw Turnbull's body, she demanded an autopsy.Why?""To discover the cause of death," answered Kent quietly."That is obvious, Ferguson.""Sure.And why did she wish to discover it?" He waited a brief instant, then answered his own question."Because Miss McIntyre did not agree with Rochester that Turnbull had died from angina pectoris - that is obvious, too.Now, what made her think that?""I am sure I don't know" - Kent's air of candor was unmistakable and Ferguson showed his disappointment.
"Hasn't Miss McIntyre been to see you?"
"No," was Kent's truthful answer; Barbara was the younger twin and her sister was therefore, "Miss McIntyre.""You must recollect, Ferguson," he added, "that had Miss McIntyre called to see me about poor Turnbull, I would not have discussed the interview with any one, under any conditions.""Certainly.I am not asking you to break any confidences; in fact,"Ferguson smiled, "I must ask you to consider our conversation confidential.Now, Mr.Kent, does it not strike you as odd that apparently the only man in Washington who really disliked Turnbull was Colonel McIntyre, and it is his daughter who intimates that Turnbull's death was not due to natural causes?""Oh, pshaw!" Kent shrugged his shoulders."You are taking an exaggerated view of the affair.Colonel McIntyre is an honorable upright American, and Turnbull was the same.""People speak highly of both men," acknowledged the detective.
I saw Mr.Clymer, president of Turnbull's bank this afternoon, and he paid a fine tribute to his dead cashier."Kent drew an inward sigh of relief.Benjamin Clymer had proved true blue; he had not permitted Colonel McIntyre's desire for immediate publicity and belief in Turnbull's guilt to shake his faith in his friend.
"You see, Ferguson, there is no motive for such a crime as you suggest," he remarked.
"Oh, for the motive," - Ferguson rubbed his hands nervously together as he shot a look at his questioner; the latter's clear-cut features and manly bearing inspired confidence."We know of no motive," he corrected.
"And we know of no crime having been perpetrated," rapped out Kent.
"Come, man; don't hunt a mare's nest."
"Ah, but it isn't a mare's nest!" Ferguson remarked dryly.
Kent bent eagerly forward - "You have heard from the coroner -""Not yet," Ferguson jerked forward his chair until his knees touched Kent.
Had either man looked toward the window near which they were sitting, he would have seen a black shadow squatting ape-like on the window ledge.As Kent leaned over to relight his cigar, the face at the window vanished, to cautiously reappear a second later.
"The case piqued my interest," continued the detective after a pause.
"And I made an investigation on my own hook.After the departure of the McIntyre twins and Coroner Penfield, I went back to the court room and poked around the prisoners' cage.There I found this."He took out of his pocket a small bundle and carefully unwrapped the oil-skin cover.
"A handkerchief?" questioned Kent as the detective did not unfold the white muslin, but held it with care.
"Yes.One of the prisoners in the cage told me Turnbull dropped it as Dr.Stone and the deputy marshal carried him into the ante-room.
Smell anything?" holding up the handkerchief.
"Yes." Kent wrinkled his nose and sniffed several times." Smells like fruit."Ferguson nodded."Good guess; I noticed the odor and went at once to Dr.McLane.He told me the handkerchief was saturated with amyl nitrite.""Amyl nitrite," repeated Kent reflectively."It is given for angina pectoris.""Yes.Well, in this case it was the remedy and not the disease which killed Turnbull," announced Ferguson triumphantly.
"Nonsense!" ejaculated Kent."I happen to know that the capsules contain only three minims - I once heard Turnbull say so.""True, but Turnbull got a lethal dose, all right; and he thought he was taking only the regular one.Devilishly ingenious on the part of the criminal, wasn't it?
"Yes.Have you detected the criminal?" Kent put the question with unmoved countenance, but with inward foreboding; the detective's mysterious manner was puzzling.
"Not yet, but I will," Ferguson hesitated."The first thing was to establish that a crime had really been committed."Kent bent down and sniffed again at the handkerchief to which a faint fruity aroma still clung.
"How did you discover that?" he asked.
"Dr.McLane and I took the handkerchief to a laboratory and the chemist found from the number of particles of capsules in the handkerchief, that at least two capsules - or double the usual dose - had been crushed by Turnbull and the fumes inhaled by him;with fatal results."
"Hold on," cautioned Kent."In the flurry of the moment, Turnbull may have accidentally put two capsules in the handkerchief, meaning only to use one.""Mr.Kent," the detective spoke impressively, "that wasn't Turnbull's handkerchief.""Not his own handkerchief!" exclaimed Kent."Then, are you sure that Turnbull used it?""Yes; that fact is established by reputable witnesses; Dr.Stone, Mr.Clymer, and the deputy marshal," Ferguson spoke with increasing earnestness."That is a woman's handkerchief - look at it."Ferguson laid the little bundle on the broad arm of Kent's chair and with infinite care folded back the edges of the handkerchief, revealing as he did so, the small particles of capsules still clinging to the linen.But Kent hardly observed the capsules, his entire attention being centered on one corner of the handkerchief, which had neatly embroidered on it the letter "B."
