“Really, Mr. Shandon, I’ve had no particular experience. You’d better have a look at a few and choose the one you think most satisfactory.” Ernest’s face expressed as clearly as print his inward comment: “More trouble!” “I don’t know, Sir Clinton; perhaps I’d better get some. But then, you know,” he added with a touch of relief, “we’ve never had a burglary yet. Hardly worth while fitting alarms, perhaps. It’s such a nuisance getting the things, and then getting workmen up to fit them—turn the whole place upside down and all that—and then having to remember to set them at night before one goes to bed. You don’t think it’s worth while, do you?” he ended, hopefully. Sir Clinton shook his head. “You’re in charge now, Mr. Shandon, you know. You must do what you think best yourself.” He turned to Ardsley and Wendover. “I think we must be getting on the road again.” They took their leave and got into Wendover’s car again. “We’ll drop you at your house,” said Sir Clinton to the toxicologist. “It was very good of you to take all this trouble to help us. I feel a good deal easier in my mind now that I’ve got this.” He tapped the little jar of curare which he had brought away with him. CHAPTER VIII. Opportunity, Method, and Motive Wendover picked up the decanter and poured out some whiskey for his guest. “You can’t complain that I’ve worried you with questions, Clinton, but I think you might tell me something about this business at the Maze. You seem to have definite ideas, and I’d like to know what they are.” He glanced at the tumbler as he spoke, then added: “‘_In vino veritas_,’ you know.” Sir Clinton looked up with a quizzical expression on his face: “Truth at the bottom of the decanter, eh?” he inquired. “Well, if that’s the method you can give me just two fingers and all the soda. The truth’s sometimes dangerous when it’s undiluted. And, remember, I warned you frankly that it might not be convenient to tell you very much just at present. The arrangement was that you were to give your views and I was to say what I thought of them.” Wendover acknowledged the accuracy of this. “At least you might give me something in the way of general principles, though. They aren’t hush-hush matters, at any rate.” Sir Clinton came over, lifted his tumbler, and went back again to his seat before replying. “That’s true enough,” he admitted. “But I don’t think general principles are likely to take you far in this case. I can make you a present of them without giving much away.” Wendover poured out his own whiskey and soda and returned to his chair. “Go on,” he said. “Make a lecture of it, if you like. The night’s still young.”