"For God's sake, Craig," I gasped. "An emetic, quick--Vanderdyke."
A trace of a smile flitted over Vanderdyke's features, as much as
to say that he was beyond our interference.
"Vanderdyke," said Craig, with what seemed to me a brutal
calmness, "then it was you who were the visitor who last saw
Laura Wainwright and John Templeton alive. Whether you shot a
dart at them I do not know. But you are the murderer."
Vanderdyke raised his hand as if to assent. It fell back limp,
and I noted the ring of the bluest lapis lazuli.
Mrs. Ralston threw herself toward him. "Will you not do
something? Is there no antidote? Don't let him die!" she cried.
"You are the murderer," repeated Kennedy, as if demanding a final
answer.
Again the hand moved in confession, and he feebly moved the
finger on which shone the ring.
Our attention was centred on Vanderdyke. Mrs. Ralston,
unobserved, went to the table and picked up the gourd. Before
O'Connor could stop her she had rubbed her tongue on the black
substance inside. It was only a little bit, for O'Connor quickly
dashed it from her lips and threw the gourd through the window,
smashing the glass.
"Kennedy," he shouted frantically, "Mrs. Ralston has swallowed
some of it."
Kennedy seemed so intent on Vanderdyke that I had to repeat the
remark.
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