“Mr. Mottisfont might have lived for some time,” said David Blake, speaking slowly. “I was attending him for a chronic illness, which would have killed him sooner or later. But it didn’t kill him. It didn’t have a chance. He died of poisoning—arsenic poisoning.” One of Edward’s hands was lying on the table. His whole arm twitched, and the hand fell over, palm upwards. The fingers opened and closed slowly. David found himself staring at that slowly moving hand. “Impossible,” said Edward, and his breath caught in his throat as he said it. “I’m afraid not.” Edward leaned forward a little. “But, David,” he said, “it’s not possible. Who—who do you think—who would do such a thing? Or—suicide—do you think he committed suicide?” David drew himself suddenly away from the table. All at once the feeling had come to him that he could no longer touch what Edward touched. “No, I don’t think it was suicide,” he said. “But of course it’s not my business to think at all. I shall give my evidence, and there, as far as I am concerned, the matter ends.” Edward looked helplessly at David. “Evidence?” he repeated. “At the inquest,” said David Blake. “I don’t understand,” said Edward again. He put his head in his hands, and seemed to be thinking. “Are you sure?” he said at last. “I don’t see how—it was an attack—just like his other attacks—and then he died—you always said he might die in one of those attacks.” There was a sort of trembling eagerness in Edward’s tone. A feeling of nausea swept over David. The scene had become intolerable. “Mr. Mottisfont died because he drank a cup of tea which contained enough arsenic to kill a man in robust health,” he said sharply. He looked once at Edward, saw him start, and added, “and I think that you brought him that tea.” “Yes,” said Edward. “He asked me for it, how could there be arsenic in it?” “There was,” said David Blake. “Arsenic? But I brought him the tea——” “Yes, you brought him the tea.” Edward lifted his head. His eyes behind his glasses had a misty and bewildered look. His voice shook a little. “But—if there’s an inquest—they might say—they might think——” He pushed his chair back a little way, and half rose from it, resting his hands on the table, and peering across it. “David, why do you look at me like that?” David Blake turned away. “It’s none of my business,” he said, “I’ve got to give my evidence, and for God’s sake, Edward, pull yourself together before the inquest, and get decent legal advice, for you’ll need it.” Edward was shockingly pale. “You mean—what do you mean? That people will think—it’s impossible.” David went towards the door. His face was like a flint. “I mean this,” he said. “Mr. Mottisfont died of arsenic poisoning. The arsenic was in a cup of tea which he drank. You brought him the tea. You are undoubtedly in a very serious position. There will have to be an inquest.” Edward had risen completely. He made a step towards David.