"Your theory," remarked Japix, heavily, "is remarkably ingenious, and may--mind you, I don't say it is--but may be correct. I will analyse these pills, and let you know the result to-morrow. If I find here," said the Doctor, laying one massive hand on the pill-box, "if I find here a morphia pill, it will establish your theory in a certain sense." "I think it will establish my theory in every sense," retorted Fanks, impetuously. Dr. Japix shook his large head slowly, and delivered himself oracularly: "Let us not," he said, looking at Fanks from under his shaggy eyebrows, "let us not jump to conclusions. I may find a morphia pill, but harmless." "Deadly." "Possibly harmless," said Japix, firmly. "Probably deadly," rejoined Octavius, stubbornly. "If deadly," continued the Doctor, quietly, "I grant your theory is a correct one, and that Sebastian Melstane met his death at the hands of the person who put those two extra pills in the box. If harmless, however," said Japix, raising his voice, "it establishes nothing. Melstane may have suffered from sleeplessness. Seeing his nerves were all wrong, I should say it was very probable he did, and taken morphia pills--purchased from, perhaps, a London chemist--in order to get a good night's rest." "But why two morphia pills?" objected Octavius, earnestly. "Chemists don't sell morphia pills in twos." "Your objection, sir, is not without some merit," said Japix, approvingly. "Still these two pills may have been the balance of another box, and placed in this one so as to obviate the trouble of carrying two boxes." "Possible, certainly, but not probable. No, no, my dear Doctor, you need not try to upset my theory. Wait till you analyse those pills." "I shall do so to-night, and to-morrow you will have my answer." "I suppose you didn't give Melstane any morphia pills?" said Fanks, as he arose to take his leave. "No; I don't believe in morphia pills for sleepless people, except in extreme cases. I generally give chloral, as I did to Mr. Jackson Spolger to-day." "Oh, the Ancient Mariner," said Octavius, carelessly. "Does he suffer from sleeplessness?" "Yes; on account of his approaching marriage, I presume." "With Miss Marson?" "Exactly." "By the way," observed Fanks, suddenly, "was she not engaged to Melstane?" "No, not engaged exactly," replied Japix, thoughtfully; "but she was in love with him. Strange how women adore scamps. But it's a long story, my dear Rixton. To-morrow night, when we both dine, across the walnuts and the wine, I'll tell to thee the tale divine. Ha, ha! you see I'm a poet, eh?" "Yes, and a plagiarist also. The second line is Tennyson." "Really, Mr. Bucket--Dickens, you observe--you're as sharp after a rhyme, as after a thief. With your active brain, I wonder you don't suffer from insomnia." "When I do I'll come to you for morphia pills," said Octavius, laughing: "not the sort in that box, though. I don't want to die yet."