Fernet’s laughter stopped instantly. He went on with his preparation for coffee. Minetti changed the subject. It turned out that there was no sugar in the cracked bowl. Fernet was putting on his hat to go out for some, when the hunchback stopped him. “Sugar will not be necessary,” he said. And as he spoke he drew a vial from his vest pocket and laid it upon the table beside the cups. “You know what these are, of course.” “Saccharine pellets?” inquired Fernet as he threw aside his hat. Minetti replied with a grunt. Fernet poured out the coffee, set a spoon in each saucer, laid three French rolls upon a blue plate. Then he sat down. “Permit me!” said Minetti, reaching for the vial and rolling a tiny pellet into his palm. Fernet held up his cup; the hunchback dropped the pellet into it. Then he corked the vial tightly and laid it aside. “You forgot to serve yourself,” said Fernet. “So I did!” answered Minetti, nonchalantly. “Well, no matter. I very often drink my coffee so—without sweetening.” Fernet drew back suddenly. Could it be possible that.... The hunchback was staring at him, an ironical smile was on his lips. Fernet shuddered. “Drink your coffee!” Minetti commanded, sneeringly. “You are on the verge of a chill.” Fernet obeyed meekly. He felt for all the world like an animal caught in a trap. He tried to collect his thoughts. What had the hunchback been talking about? “Slow poison!” muttered Fernet, inaudibly to himself. “What is that you are saying?” demanded the other. “You were speaking of slow poison. How do you go about it?” “Oh, that is easy! For instance, once in London I lodged next door to my victim. We became capital friends. And he was always calling me in for a bite of something to eat. Nothing elaborate—a bun and a cup of tea, or coffee and cake. Very much as we are doing now. He died in six months. It is no trick, you know, to poison a man who eats and drinks with you—especially drinks!” As he said this the hunchback reached for the coffee-pot and poured Fernet another cupful. Then he uncorked the vial again and dropped a pellet into the steaming liquid. “I do not think that I wish any more,” protested Fernet. “Nonsense! You are still shivering like an old woman with the palsy. Hot coffee will do you good.” “No,” said Fernet, desperately, “I never drink more than one cup at a sitting. It keeps me awake, and next morning my hand shakes and I am fit for nothing. I need a steady hand in my business.” “And what may that be, pray?” “At present I am a draftsman. Some day, if I live long enough, I hope to be an architect.” “If you live long enough? You forget that you have laughed at _me_, my friend.” Fernet tried to appear indifferent. “What a droll fellow you are!” he cried, with sudden gaiety, rubbing his hands together. And without thinking, he reached for his coffee-cup and downed the contents in almost one gulp. He laid the cup aside quickly. He could feel the sweat starting out upon his forehead.