"Where have you been?" demanded Kent, partly recovering from his
astonishment which had deprived him of speech.
"I decided to take a vacation at a moment's notice." Rochester spoke
with the same slow drawl which was characteristic of him. "You
should be accustomed to my eccentricities by this time, Harry."
"We are," announced Detective Ferguson from the hallway, where he
and Nelson had been silent witnesses of the scene. "And we'll give
you a chance to explain them in the police court."
"On what charge?" demanded Rochester.
"Poisoning your room-mate, Mr. Turnbull," replied the detective,
drawing out a pair of handcuffs. "You are mighty clever, Mr.
Rochester. I've got to hand it to you for your mysterious
disappearances in and out of this apartment, and for murdering Mr.
Turnbull right in the police court in the presence of the judge,
police officials, and spectators."
Kent stepped forward at sight of the handcuffs and laid a restraining
hand on the detective's shoulder. Rochester saw the movement,
guessed Kent's intention, and smiled.
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