In lieu of other news one of the reporters had written an interview with Dr.Baird, in which that physician discoursed learnedly on various poisons and the tests for them, such as might be made to determine what caused the death of Mr.Carwell.The young doctor went very much into details, even so far as giving the various chemical symbols of poison, dwelling long on arsenious acid, whose symbol, he told the reporter, was As2O5, while if one desired to test the organs for traces of strychnine, it would be necessary to use "sodium and potassium hydroxide, ammonia and alkaline carbonate, to precipitate the free base strychnine from aqueous solutions of its salts as a white, crystalline solid," while this imposing formula was given:
"C21H22 + NaOH C21H22 + H20 + NaNO3."
And so on for a column and a half.
"Oh, Colonel! Have you found out anything yet?" the girl besought."Nothing of importance, I am sorry to say.""But you are working on it?"
"Oh, yes.Have you anything to tell me?"
"No; except that I am perfectly miserable.It is all so terrible.And we can't even put poor father's body in the grave, where he might rest.""No, the coroner is waiting for permission from the prosecutor.It seems they are trying to find some one who knows about the quarrel between Harry and your father.""I don't believe there was a quarrel - at least not a serious one.Harry isn't that kind.I'm sure he is not guilty.Harry Bartlett had nothing to do with his death.If my father was not a suicide - ""But if he was not a suicide, for the sake of justice and to prove Harry Bartlett innocent, we must find out who did kill your father," said the colonel.
"You don't believe Harry did it, do you?" Viola asked appealingly.Colonel Ashley did not answer for a moment.Then he said slowly: "My dear Viola, if some one were ill of a desperate disease, in whichthe crisis had not yet been passed, you would not expect a physician to say for certainty that such a person was to recover, would you?""No."
"Well, I am in much the same predicament.I am a sort of physician in this mystery case.It has only begun.The crisis is still far off, and nothing can be said with certainty.I prefer not to express an opinion.""I'm not afraid!" cried Viola."I know Harry Bartlett is not guilty!" "If he is not - who then?" asked the colonel.
"Oh, I don't know! I don't know what to think! I suspect - No, I mustn't say that - Oh, I'm almost distracted!" And, with sobs shaking her frame, Viola Carwell rushed from the room.
Colonel Ashley looked after her for a moment, as though half of a mind to follow, and then, slowly shaking his head, he again picked up the paper he had been reading, delving through a maze of technical poisoning detection formulae, from Vortmann's nitroprusside test to a consideration of the best method of estimating the toxicity of chemical compounds by blood hemolysis.The reporter and young Dr.Baird certainly left little to the imagination.
Colonel Ashley read until rather late that evening, and his reading was not altogether from Izaak Walton's "Compleat Angler." He delved into several books, and again read, very carefully, the artide on the effects of various poisons as it appeared in the paper he had been glancing over when Viola talked with him.
As the colonel was getting ready to retire a servant brought him a note.It was damp, as though it had been splashed with water, and when the detective had read it and had noted Viola's signature, he knew that her tears had blurred the writing.
"Please excuse my impulsiveness," she penned."I am distracted.I know Harry is not guilty.Please do something!""I am trying to," mused the colonel as he got into bed, and turned his thoughts to a passage he had read in Walton just before switching off his light.It was an old rhyme, the source of which was not given, but which seemed wonderfully comforting under the circumstances.It was a bit of advice given by our friend Izaak, and as part of what a good fisherman should provide specified: "My rod and my line, my float and my lead,My hook and my plummet, my whetstone and knife.My basket, my baits, both living and dead, My net and my meat (for that is the chief):
