Now,
Ferguson, to put your charges against Rochester in concrete form, you
believe that he was insanely jealous of Jimmie Turnbull, that he
recognized him in the Police Court in his burglar disguise, slipped
a dose of aconitine in a glass of water which Turnbull drank, and
after declaring that his friend had died from angina pectoris,
disappeared. Is that all the case you have against him?"
"At present, yes," admitted the detective cautiously.
"All circumstantial evidence -"
"But it will hold in court -"
"Ah, will it?" questioned Kent. "There's one big flaw in your case,
Ferguson; the poison used to kill Turnbull."
"Aconitine?"
"Exactly. Your theory is that Rochester slipped the poison in the
glass of water on recognizing Turnbull in the police court; now, it
is stretching probability to suppose that Rochester, a strong
healthy man, was carrying that drug around in his vest pocket."
Ferguson sat forward in his chair, his eyes glittering. "Do you
mean to say that you think the murder of Turnbull was premeditated
and not committed on the spur of the moment?" he asked.
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