I ripped open the lining at once, and pulled out the flask, delighted at the discovery. And, as soon as I reached town, I took the flask to a chemist I knew and asked him to analyse its contents. He would do so without delay, he said, and let me know on the following morning the result of his analysis. "It's a mixture of gelsiminum and ether," he said, as soon as I entered his shop next day. "Poison, of course," I remarked. He smiled. "Well, I should rather think so," he answered drily. "A few drops would send a strong man to sleep for ever, and there is enough of the fluid here to send fifty men to sleep--for ever. Therefore one wouldn't exactly take it for one's health." So here was a clue--of a sort. The first clue! My spirits rose. My next step must be to discover the owner of the flask, presumably some one with initials "D.P.," and the reason he--or she--had carried this fluid about. I lunched at Brooks's, feeling more than usually bored by the members I met there. Several men whom I had not seen for several weeks were standing in front of the smoking-room fire, and as I entered, and they caught sight of me, they all grinned broadly. "`The accused then left the Court with his friends,'" one of them said lightly, as I approached. "`He was granted a free pardon, but bound over in his own recognisances to keep the peace for six months.'" "You _have_ been getting yourself into trouble, Dick, and no mistake," observed his neighbour--I am generally called Dick by my friends. "Into trouble? What do you mean?" I retorted, nettled. "Why--you know quite well," he answered. "This Houghton affair, the scandal about the Thorolds, of course. How came you to get mixed up in it? We like you, old man, but you know it makes it a bit unpleasant for some of us. You know what people are. They will talk." "I suppose you mean that men are judged by the company they keep, and that because I happened to be at Houghton at the time of that affair, and was unwillingly dragged into prominence by the newspapers, therefore that discredit reflects on me." "Well, I should not have expressed it precisely in that way, but still--" "Still what?" "As you ask me, I suppose I must answer. I do think it rather unfortunate you should have got yourself mixed up in the business, and both Algie and Frank agree with me--don't you, Algie?" he ended, turning to his friend. "Awe--er--awe--quite so, quite so. We were talking of you just as you came in, my dear old Dick, and we all agreed it was, awe--er--was--awe-- a confounded pity you had anything to do with it. Bad form, you know, old Dick, all this notoriety. Never does to be unusual, singular, or different from other people--eh what? One's friends don't like it--and one don't like it oneself--what?"