And each time poor Birdie stirred. Better for her if she hadn't, poor girl. But they didn't mean murder, bless 'em. So they chose to drug her. There was morphia in that coffee. As you heard to-day, Birdie didn't drink hers. Another rotten chance. So May Weston went to sleep while Birdie was storming at her. Birdie raged off to her room. Whether she got out that will and tore it, we'll never know. It may have been Flora's little game. Nastitch came in, reckoning she was sure to be sound, and Flora was with him, I think. Birdie was very wide awake. There was a struggle and he stabbed her. He's a hot-tempered devil, as you saw to-day."
"This is all very pretty, doctor, but it ain't all evidence," Mordan said.
"You're so hasty. When she was dead, they took her into the boudoir where the Weston girl was asleep. They laid her on the couch and stabbed at her with her scissors and the bodkin. Filthy trick. That was what May Weston saw in the opium dream. Then I suppose they cleared the safe, and Nastitch went off. Flora annexed the emerald ring. Her perquisite, I suppose. Now, you shall have your evidence. When I came to the body, I saw those scissors never did the business. Ever tried killing anybody with scissors, Inspector? Poor game. No. We wanted something like this." He fingered the knife affectionately. "Just like this.
