ause there was no sign of violence, or of
injury artificially inflicted."

"It is fortunate the world doesn't know these ways to euthanasia,"
interposed Stafford. "I fancy that murders would be more numerous than
suicides, however. Suicide enthusiasts would still pursue their
melodramatic indulgences--disfiguring themselves unnecessarily."

Adrian Fellowes, the amiable, ever-present secretary and "chamberlain"
of Rudyard's household, as Jasmine teasingly called him, whose
handsome, unintellectual face had lighted with amusement at the
conversation, now interposed. "Couldn't you give us some idea how it
can be done, this smooth passage of the Styx?" he asked. "We'll promise
not to use it."

The surgeon looked round the little group reflectively. His eyes passed
from Adrian to Jasmine, who stood beside him, to Byng, and to Ian
Stafford, and stimulated by their interest, he gave a pleased smile of
gratified vanity. He was young, and had only within the past three
years got to the top of the tree at a bound, by a certain successful
operation in royal circles.

Drawing out of his pocket a small case, he took from it a needle and
held it up. "Now that doesn't look very dangerous, does it?" he asked.
"Yet a firm pressure of its point could take a life, and there would be
little possibility of finding how the ghastly trick was done except by
the aroused expert."

"If you will allow me," he said, taking Jasmine's hand and poising the
needle above her palm. "Now, one tiny thrust of this steel point, which
has been dipped in a certain acid, would kill Mrs. Byng as surely as
though she had been shot through the heart. Yet it would leave scarcely
the faintest sign. No blood, no wound, just a tiny pin-prick, as it
were; and who would be the wiser? Imagine an average coroner's jury and
the average examination of the village doctor, who would die rather
than expose his ignorance, and therefore gives 'heart failure' as the
cause of death."

Jasmine withdrew her hand with a shudder. "Please, I don't like being
so near the point," she said.

"Woman-like," interjected Byng ironically.

"How does it happen you carry this murdering asp about with you, Mr.
Mappin?" asked Stafford.

The surgeon smiled. "For an experiment to-morrow. Don't start. I have a
favorite collie which must die. I am testing the poison with the
minimum. If it kills the dog it will kill two men."

He was about to put the needle back into the case when Adrian