smell immediately noted the prevalent atmosphere of drags and chemicals.
"It was here that I saw Mr. Levendale last night, sir," said the butler. "He called me in. He was measuring something from one of those bottles into a small phial, Mr. Purdie—he put the phial in his waistcoat pocket. Look at those bottles, sir—you'll see they all contain poison!—you can tell that by the make of 'em."
Purdie glanced at the shelf which the butler indicated. The bottles ranged on it were all of blue glass, and all triangular in shape, and each bore a red label with the word Poison prominently displayed.
"Odd!" he said. "You've some idea!" he went on, looking closely at the butler. "Something on your mind about this? What is it?"
The butler shook his head.
"Well, sir," he answered, "when you see a gentleman measuring poison into a phial, which he carefully puts in his pocket, and when he goes out, and when he never comes back, and when you can't hear of him, anywhere!—why, what are you to think? Looks strange, now, doesn't it, Mr. Purdie?"
"I don't know Mr. Levendale well enough to say," replied Purdie. "There may be some quite good reason for Mr. Levendale's absence. He'd no trouble of any sort, had he?"
"He seemed a bit upset, once or twice, yesterday—and the night before," said the butler. "I noticed it—in little things. Well!—I can't make it out, sir. You see, I've been with him ever since he came back to Eng-
