"You haven't mentioned this to anybody?" asked Ayscough.
"Neither to the widow nor to anybody—but you," replied Goodyer.
"Don't!" said Ayscough. "Keep it to yourself till I give you the word. You didn't hear anything from Parslett as to where the money was coming from?"
"Not one syllable!" answered Goodyer. "But I could see he was dead sure of having it."
"Well—keep quiet about it," continued Ayscough. "There'll be an inquest, you know, and what you have to tell 'll come in handy, then. There's some mystery about all this affair, Mr. Goodyer, and it's going to take some unravelling."
"You're right!" said Goodyer. "I believe you!"
He went off along the street, and the detective turned to Purdie and motioned him towards the hospital.
"Queer, all that, sir!" he muttered. "Very queer! But it all tends to showing that my theory's the right one. Now if you'll just stop in the waiting-room a few minutes, I'll find out if these doctors have come to any conclusion about the precise nature of the poison."
Purdie waited for ten minutes speculating on the curiosities of the mystery into which he had been so strangely plunged: at last the detective came back, shaking his head.
"Can't get a definite word out of 'em, yet," he said, as they went away. "There's two or three of 'em—big experts in—what do you call it—oh, yes, toxology—putting their heads together over the analysing business, and they won't say anything so far— they'll leave that to the
