"We're greatly indebted to you, doctor," said Markham. "It's quite possible you have been the means of solving this case.—When will we be able to question your patient?"
"She'll be loggy and nauseated all day—kind of general collapse, you understand, with painful breathing, drowsiness, headache, and that sort of thing—no fit condition to answer questions. But to-morrow morning you'll be able to talk to her as much as you like."
"That will be satisfactory. And what of the bouillon cup the nurse mentioned?"
"It tasted bitter—morphine, all right."
As Drumm finished speaking Sproot passed down the hall to the front door. A moment later Von Blon paused at the archway and looked into the drawing-room. The strained silence which followed the exchange of greetings caused him to study us with growing alarm.
"Has anything happened?" he finally asked.
It was Vance who rose and, with quick decision, assumed the rôle of spokesman.
"Yes, doctor. Ada has been poisoned with morphine. Doctor Drumm here happened to be in the Narcoss Flats opposite and was called in."
"And Sibella—is she all right?" Von Blon spoke excitedly.
"Oh, quite."
A relieved sigh escaped him, and he sank into a chair.
"Tell me about it. When was the—the murder discovered?"
Drumm was about to correct him when Vance said quickly:
