“You practically told me you had it, there in the laboratory,” he reminded the toxicologist. “What’s more important at present is to know if anyone else could have had access to it.” Ardsley reflected for a moment or two before speaking again. “There’s another source of supply close at hand,” he said, as though the point had just come to his memory. “Roger Shandon had a sort of museum up at Whistlefield—stuff he had picked up on his travels—rubbish mostly. But I remember he had a pot of curare amongst it.” “Ah! That’s what I wanted to get at,” Sir Clinton broke in. “You’re sure about that?” “Quite. It slipped my memory at the time; but I’m quite certain about it. It’s real stuff, undoubtedly. I remember that once, a while ago, I ran short of curare and I borrowed Roger’s specimen and took some of it. I returned it to him at once, of course; and I only took a trace for use. But it’s real curare all right, without any doubt.” “And that stuff’s lying up at Whistlefield now? Is it under lock and key?” “No,” Ardsley explained. “It’s just lying loose in an open museum-case. Anyone could lay their hands on it.” Sir Clinton’s face showed perplexity. “It’s time that we’re up against,” he repeated; and he seemed to be making some unsatisfactory calculation. “I wish I’d known about that stuff an hour ago.” He turned to Wendover. “Look here, you must do this for me. I’ve other things to attend to which must be put through immediately. Will you take Dr. Ardsley up in your car to Whistlefield? He’ll identify the pot of curare for you; you couldn’t be sure of it yourself. And then take charge of it. Quote me, if anyone raises objections. And make a note of who objects, if anyone does. Now it’s a matter of hurry, and more hurry. You must get that stuff into your hands without a second’s delay, Wendover.” The toxicologist wasted no time. “I’ll get my coat now,” he said, going towards the door. “We must stop any chance of further supplies at once, just in case of more trouble,” Sir Clinton said, when their host had left the room. Wendover was plainly astonished. “Do you expect another crime? Surely two’s enough?” “One never knows,” Sir Clinton affirmed, with a hint of trouble in his tone. “I’d never forgive myself if I neglected the possibility—even though it’s a very remote one. One can’t bring dead men back to life with a few regrets, you know.” Ardsley put his head in at the door. “I’m ready.” “Then let’s get off,” said Sir Clinton. “Drop me in the village as we pass, Wendover, I’ve something to do there. I’ll join you at Whistlefield as quick as I can. Wait for me there. Now drive for all you’re worth.” As they came into the village, Sir Clinton gave a sigh of relief. “Shops still open, I see. That’s all right!” He got down from the car. “Now, off you go. Don’t waste a moment!”