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“There was an antique charcoal-brazier in the room, and I have ascertained that it was lighted. Now, anything like a brazier will, unless there is proper ventilation, give rise to carbonic oxide or carbon monoxide gas, which is always present in the products of combustion, often to the extent of from five to ten per cent. A very slight quantity of this gas, insufficient even to cause an odour in a room, will give a severe headache, and a case is recorded where a whole family in Glasgow was poisoned without knowing it by the escape of this gas. A little over one per cent of it in the atmosphere is fatal, if breathed for any length of time. You know, it is a product of combustion, and is very deadly–it is the much-dreaded white damp or afterdamp of a mine explosion.

“I’m going to tell you a secret which I have not given out to the press yet. I tried an experiment in a closed room today, lighting the brazier. Some distance from it I placed a cat confined in a cage so it could not escape. In an hour and a half the cat was asphyxiated.”

The coroner concluded with an air of triumph that quite squelched the district attorney.

Kennedy was all attention. “Have you preserved samples of the blood of Mr. Templeton and Miss Wainwright?” he asked.

“Certainly. I have them in my office.”

The coroner, who was also a local physician, led us back into his private office.

“And the cat?” added Craig.

Doctor Nott produced it in a covered basket.

Quickly Kennedy drew off a little of the blood of the cat and held it up to the light along with the human samples. The difference was apparent.

“You see,” he explained, “carbon monoxide combines firmly with the blood, destroying the red colouring matter of the red corpuscles. No, Doctor, I’m afraid it wasn’t carbonic oxide that killed the lovers, although it certainly killed the cat.”

Doctor Nott was crestfallen, but still unconvinced. “If my whole medical reputation were at stake,” he repeated, “I should still be compelled to swear to asphyxia. I’ve seen it too often, to make a mistake. Carbonic oxide or not, Templeton and Miss Wainwright were asphyxiated.”

It was now Whitney’s chance to air his theory.

“I have always inclined toward the cyanide-of-potassium theory, either that it was administered in a drink or perhaps injected by a needle,” he said. “One of the chemists has reported that there was a possibility of slight traces of cyanide in the mouths.”

“If it had been cyanide,” replied Craig, looking reflectively at the two jars before him on the table, “these blood specimens would be blue in colour and clotted. But they are not. Then, too, there is a substance in the saliva which is used in the process of digestion. It gives a reaction which might very easily be mistaken for a slight trace of cyanide. I think that explains what the chemist discovered; no more, no less. The cyanide theory does not fit.”

“One chemist hinted at nux vomica,” volunteered the coroner. “He said it wasn’t nux vomica, but that the blood test showed something very much like it. Oh, we’ve looked for morphine chloroform, ether, all the ordinary poisons, besides some of the little known alkaloids. Believe me, Professor Kennedy, it was asphyxia.”

I could tell by the look that crossed Kennedy’s face that at last a ray of light had pierced the darkness. “Have you any spirits of turpentine in the office?” he asked.

The coroner shook his head and took a step toward the telephone as if to call the drug-store in town.

“Or ether?” interrupted Craig. “Ether will do.”

“Oh, yes, plenty of ether.”

Craig poured a little of one of the blood samples from the jar into a tube and added a few drops of ether. A cloudy dark precipitate formed. He smiled quietly and said, half to himself, “I thought so.”

“What is it?” asked the coroner eagerly. “Nux vomica?”