d Thorndyke. "If you had broken in you would have found
a dead man. As it was you found a live man and obtained an important
statement. You acted quite properly."

"How do you suppose he managed it?" asked Badger.

Thorndyke held out his hand.

"Let us look at his cigarette case," said he.

Badger extracted the little silver case from the dead man's pocket and
opened it. There were five cigarettes in it, two of which were plain,
while the other three were gold-tipped. Thorndyke took out one of each
kind and gently pinched their ends. The gold-tipped one he returned;
the plain one he tore through, about a quarter of an inch from the end;
when two little black tabloids dropped out on to the table. Badger
eagerly picked one up and was about to smell it when Thorndyke grasped
his wrist. "Be careful," said he; and when he had cautiously sniffed
at the tabloid--held at a safe distance from his nose--he added: "Yes,
potassium cyanide. I thought so when his lips turned that queer color.
It was in that last cigarette; you can see that he has bitten the end
off."

For some time we stood silently looking down at the still form
stretched on the floor. Presently Badger looked up.

"As you pass the porter's lodge on your way out," said he, "you might
just drop in and tell him to send a constable to me."

"Very well," said Thorndyke. "And by the way, Badger, you had better
tip that sherry back into the decanter and put it under lock and key,
or else pour it out of the window."

"Gad, yes!" exclaimed the inspector. "I'm glad you mentioned it. We
might have had an inquest on a constable as well as a lawyer.
Good-night, gentlemen, if you are off."

We went out and left him with his prisoner--passive enough, indeed,
according to his ambiguously worded promise. As we passed through the
gateway Thorndyke gave the inspector's message, curtly and without
comment, to the gaping porter, and then we issued forth into Chancery
Lane.

We were all silent and very grave, and I thought that Thorndyke seemed
somewhat moved. Perhaps Mr. Jellicoe's last intent look--which I
suspect he knew to be the look of a dying man--lingered in his memory
as it did in mine. Half-way down Chancery Lane he spoke for the first
time; and then it was only to ejaculate, "Poor devil!"

Jervis took him up. "He was a consummate villain, Thorndyke."

"Hardly that," was the reply. "I should rather say that he was
non-moral. He acted without ma