It was fully five minutes before Kent
addressed him.
"So James Turnbull was poisoned after all," he commented. "A week
ago I would have sworn that Jimmie hadn't an enemy in the world."
"Ah, but he had; and a very bitter vindictive enemy, if the evidence
given at the coroner's inquest this afternoon is to be believed,"
replied Clymer seriously. "The case is remarkably puzzling."
"It is." Kent bit savagely at his cigar as a slight vent to his
feelings. "'Killed by a dose of aconitine by a person or persons
unknown,' was the jury's verdict, and a nice tangle they have left
me to ferret out.''
"You?"
"Yes. I'm going to solve this mystery if it is a possible thing."
Kent's tone was grim. "And Colonel McIntyre only gave me until
Saturday night to work in."
Clymer eyed him in surprise. "McIntyre desires to get back his
lost securities; judging from his comments after the inquest, he is
not particularly interested in who killed Turnbull."
"But I am," exclaimed Kent. "The more I think of it, the more
convinced I am that the forged letter, with the subsequent
disappearance of McIntyre's securities has some connection with
Jimmie's untimely death, be it murder or suicide.
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