CHAPTER II
IN WHICH A LADY IS CONCERNED
PERHAPS the strange sequence of events which occurred in a country-house, where I was a guest about six months before I got qualified, first put into my mind the enormous possibilities of crime that a thorough knowledge of toxicology placed in the hands of a medical man who did not possess any so-called morals—or a conscience.
It is a rather queer story, my dear old fellow, and I will tell it you as I gleaned it, after having gathered together all the threads of the tangle.
I had gone to stay with a comparatively new friend, with whom I became acquainted in none too savoury surroundings in London, a fellow, younger than myself, named Anthony Laurence, and who lived with his people at Mallowfield Court, ten miles from York. His father, Sir Geoffrey Laurence, resided there with his second wife. My friend was her son—a youngster of
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