He bent nimbly over the dead man, on his knees in the space between the last row and the row directly before it. Despite the brilliant sparkle of light from the fixtures overhead, the cramped space near the floor was dark. Velie produced a flashlight and stooped over the Inspector, keeping its bright beam on the corpse, shifting it as the Inspector’s hands roved about. Queen silently pointed to an ugly ragged brown stain on the otherwise immaculate shirt-front. “Blood?” grunted Velie. The Inspector sniffed the shirt cautiously. “Nothing more dangerous than whisky,” he retorted. He ran his hands swiftly over the body, feeling over the heart and at the neck, where the collar was loosened. He looked up at Velie. “Looks like a poisoning case, all right, Thomas. Get hold of this Dr. Stuttgard for me, will you? I’d like to have his professional opinion before Prouty gets here.” Velie snapped an order and a moment later a medium-sized man in evening clothes, olive-skinned and wearing a thin black mustache, came up behind a detective. “Here he is, Inspector,” said Velie. “Ah, yes.” Queen looked up from his examination. “How do you do, Doctor? I am informed that you examined the body almost immediately after it was discovered. I see no obvious sign of death—what is your opinion?” “My examination was necessarily a cursory one,” said Dr. Stuttgard carefully, his fingers brushing a phantom speck from his satin lapel. “In the semi-dark and under these conditions I could not at first discern any abnormal sign of death. From the constriction of the facial muscles I thought that it was a simple case of heart failure, but on closer examination I noticed that blueness of the face—it’s quite clear in this light, isn’t it? That combined with the alcoholic odor from the mouth seems to point to some form of alcoholic poisoning. Of one thing I can assure you—this man did not die of a gunshot wound or a stab. I naturally made sure of that at once. I even examined his neck—you see I loosened the collar—to make sure it was not strangulation.” “I see.” The Inspector smiled. “Thank you very much, Doctor. Oh, by the way,” he added, as Dr. Stuttgard with a muttered word turned aside, “do you think this man might have died from the effects of wood alcohol?” Dr. Stuttgard answered promptly. “Impossible,” he said. “It was something much more powerful and quick-acting.” “Could you put a name to the exact poison which killed this man?” The olive-skinned physician hesitated. Then he said stiffly, “I am very sorry, Inspector; you cannot reasonably expect me to be more precise. Under the circumstances....” His voice trailed off, and he backed away. Queen chuckled as he bent again to his grim task.