"There is the package. That contains, as you say, thirty grains of morphia in half a dozen five-grain capsules. You see that it is sealed just as it left the drug store. Now, open it and look for yourself. Here are scales; if you want to see whether a single grain is missing or not, find out for yourself. "Perhaps," said the newspaper man, "we had better leave this investigation for the proper authorities." "Then you still believe that I am the murderer of William Brenton?" "Yes, I still believe that." "Very well; you may do as you please. I think, however, in justice to myself, you should stay right here, and see that this box is not tampered with until the proper authorities, as you say, come." Then, placing his hand on the bell, he continued--"Whom shall I send for? An ordinary policeman, or some one from the central office? But, now that I think of it, here is a telephone. We can have any one brought here that you wish. I prefer that neither you nor I leave this room until that functionary has appeared. Name the authority you want brought here," said the doctor, going to the telephone, "and I will have him here if he is in town." The newspaper man was nonplussed. The Doctor's actions did not seem like those of a guilty man. If he were guilty he certainly had more nerve than any person Stratton had ever met. So he hesitated. Then he said-- "Sit down a moment, doctor, and let us talk this thing over." "Just as you say," remarked Roland, drawing up his chair again. Stratton took the package, and looked it over carefully. It was certainly just in the condition in which it had left the drug store; but still, that could have been easily done by the doctor himself. "Suppose we open this package?" he said to Roland. "With all my heart," said the doctor, "go ahead;" and he shoved over to him a little penknife that was on the table. The reporter took the package, ran the knife around the edge, and opened it. There lay six capsules, filled, as the doctor had said. Roland picked up one of them, and looked at it critically. "I assure you," he said, "although I am quite aware you do not believe a word I say, that I have not seen those capsules before." He drew towards him a piece of paper, opened the capsule, and, let the white powder fall on the paper. He looked critically at the powder, and a shade of astonishment came over his face. He picked up the penknife, took a particle on the tip of it, and touched it with his tongue. "Don't fool with that thing!" said Stratton. "Oh, my dear fellow," he said, "morphia is not a poison in small quantities." The moment he had tasted it, however, he suddenly picked up the paper, put the five grains on his tongue, and swallowed them. Instantly the reporter sprang to his feet. He saw at once the reason for all the assumed coolness. The doctor was merely gaining time in order to commit suicide. "What have you done?" cried the reporter.