The
operative's reluctance to leave the apartment unguarded had altered
his plans somewhat.
"Is this Dr. Stone's office?" he asked a moment later, as a faint
"hello," came over the wire. "Oh, doctor, this is Kent. Please
come over to Rochester's apartment; I would like to consult you in
regard to an important matter. You'll come now? Thanks."
The doctor kept Kent waiting less than five minutes. The clock
was striking one when he appeared, bland and smiling. Hardly
waiting for him to select a seat Kent flung himself into a chair in
front of Rochester's desk and laid the pill box on the writing pad.
"Now, doctor," he began, and his manner gained in seriousness, "what,
in your opinion, killed Jimmie Turnbull?"
"The post-mortem examination proved that he had swallowed aconitine
in sufficient quantity to cause death," Stone replied. "He
undoubtedly died from the effects of that poison."
"Is aconitine difficult to procure?" asked Kent.
"It is often prescribed for fevers." Stone made himself comfortable
in a near-by chair.
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