Finally, the expert was called, and the detective glanced at me to see what effect his appearance would have. I am glad to say that I gave him no satisfaction. I do not believe that I changed colour or moved a muscle. Indeed, I believe he has had the fairness to say that he never came across a criminal who had such complete self-control, and that it seemed incredible that a criminal so self-possessed should not have found means to get rid of the claret in the decanter. He afterwards declared that he had at one time hoped to trace more than one of the Gascoyne mysteries to me, but in that he failed. The expert corroborated the evidence of the other doctors, and then stated that he had made an examination of the food. “I naturally selected the one thing which was most particular to Lord Gascoyne,” he said, “and I began, principally for the sake of simplicity and so as to clear the way, on the claret.” I found myself breathing hard. It was a moment of supreme test. Many things convinced me that there was at least some suspicion attaching to me. The detective imagined that I was not looking at him, whereas I was conscious of his least movement. It is indeed a pity that what ought to be a particularly brilliant profession is left to the lower middle classes. It accounts for the comparative lack of scandal in the higher ranks of life, for a gentleman does not find it difficult to hide his crimes and vices from those reared in perhaps the most obtuse section of society. It was also easy to see that the servant Waters had been questioned about me, for directly the bottle of claret was mentioned he cast a furtive glance in my direction. “I found this bottle,” continued the specialist, “to be full of arsenic—so full, that it would have been impossible to drink any of the contents without succumbing to its effects. To be brief, I found no traces of arsenic in any other bottle of claret taken from the same bin or in any of the other food.” “You are quite sure of that?” “Yes. The claret was a brand of which there was barely a dozen left. I believe Lord Gascoyne had been heard to regret that there was so little remaining.” After the expert’s evidence there was a pause. Mr. Gascoyne looked terribly worried. He had evidently not imagined that the matter was likely to become so serious and complicated. The next witness was Gorby, the butler. He deposed to having fetched the wine from the cellar. No one had access to the wine-cellar but himself. He kept the keys. He had been in the family for forty years. In reply to the coroner, he said that he himself placed the wine on the sideboard, and that it was his duty to pour out his lordship’s first glass before withdrawing. No one drank claret after dinner but his lordship. Mr. Rank usually drank one glass of port, sometimes he drank nothing, but certainly never more than one glass. “And on this particular evening?” “Mr. Rank took port, sir.”