"Pooh pooh!" he said at length, with an attempt at jocularity, "absurd, monstrous! The jury said suicide." "I'm aware of that," responded Fanks, coolly, "but I don't agree with the jury. Sebastian Melstane was murdered." "By whom?" "That's the mystery." Spolger said nothing, but wriggled uneasily in his chair under the somewhat embarrassing gaze of his visitors, and at length burst out into feeble protests against their candour. "Why do you speak to me like this? I don't know anything about murders. They upset my nerves. I'm quite unstrung with all I've come through. What with Miss Marson's illness, and Melstane's death, and all kind of things, I'm quite uneasy in my mind." "What about?" asked Fanks, sharply. "I've mentioned what about," retorted Spolger, tartly. "I wish you would go away." "So we will when you've answered our questions." "I won't answer any questions." "Oh, yes, you will. It will be wiser for you to do so." "I--I--don't understand," stammered Spolger, feebly. "Then I'll explain," said Fanks, composedly. "Melstane died from taking a morphia pill, which was placed in a box of tonic pills by some unknown person." "And what's that got to do with me?" "Everything," said Axton, suddenly speaking. "Remember the story you told at Mr. Marson's the other day. You had the box of tonic pills in your possession for a time, and--" "Oh," interrupted Spolger, very indignantly. "And I suppose you'll say that I put the morphia pill into the box in order to kill Melstane!" "That's the idea," said Fanks, coolly. "A very ridiculous one." "I don't see it. You did not like Melstane, because he was loved by Miss Marson. You use morphia for your 'Soother,' so what was to prevent your acting as you suggest?" "Don't--don't!" cried Spolger, putting out his shaking hands with a sudden movement of terror. "You'll argue the rope round my neck before I can defend myself. I did not like Melstane, certainly, but I had not the slightest idea of killing him. I'll swear it." Fanks suddenly arose to his feet, and walked across the room to a shelf whereon were displayed a number of drugs in glass bottles. The invalid had risen to his feet, and was looking steadily at him, while Axton, similarly fascinated by Fanks' actions, leaned forward to see what he was doing. The detective's hand hovered lightly over the array of bottles, then suddenly swooped down with the swiftness of a hawk upon one which he bore to the table. It was a large glass bottle half filled with a white powder, and labelled "Morphia." "There!" he said, as he placed it before Spolger, triumphantly. "I know that bottle. But what has that to do with this murder?" "Melstane died from morphia." "It's no good going over the old ground," said Spolger, with a scowl. "I can easily prove my innocence. Please touch that bell, Mr. Axton."