Master Tales of Mystery, Volume 3 | Page 3

as a good
omen when, in his pride of wealth and family and tradition, he laid bare
everything to us, for the sake of Alma Willard. It was clear that in this
family there was one word that stood above all others, "Duty."
As we were about to leave after an interview barren of new facts, a
young man was announced, Mr. Halsey Post. He bowed politely to us,
but it was evident why he had called, as his eye followed Alma about

the room.
"The son of the late Halsey Post, of Post & Vance, silver-smiths, who
have the large factory in town, which you perhaps noticed," explained
the senator. "My daughter has known him all her life. A very fine
young man."
Later, we learned that the senator had bent every effort toward securing
Halsey Post as a son-in-law, but his daughter had had views of her own
on the subject.
Post waited until Alma had withdrawn before he disclosed the real
object of his visit.
In almost a whisper, lest she should still be listening, he said, "There is
a story about town that Vera Lytton's former husband--an artist named
Thurston--was here just before her death."
Senator Willard leaned forward as if expecting to hear Dixon
immediately acquitted. None of us was prepared for the next remark.
"And the story goes on to say that he threatened to make a scene over a
wrong he says he has suffered from Dixon. I don't know anything more
about it, and I tell you only because I think you ought to know what
Danbridge is saying under its breath."
We shook off the last of the reporters who affixed themselves to us, and
for a moment Kennedy dropped in at the little bungalow to see Mrs.
Boncour. She was much better, though she had suffered much. She had
taken only a pin-head of the poison, but it had proved very nearly fatal.
"Had Miss Lytton any enemies whom you think of, people who were
jealous of her professionally or personally?" asked Craig.
"I should not even have said Dr. Dixon was an enemy," she replied
evasively.
"But this Mr. Thurston," put in Kennedy quickly. "One is not usually
visited in perfect friendship by a husband who has been divorced."
She regarded him keenly for a moment. "Halsey Post told you that,"
she said. "No one else knew he was here. But Halsey Post was an old
friend of both Vera and Mr. Thurston before they separated. By chance
he happened to drop in the day Mr. Thurston was here, and later in the
day I gave him a letter to forward to Mr. Thurston, which had come
after the artist left. I'm sure no one else knew the artist. He was there
the morning of the day she died, and--and--that's every bit I'm going to
tell you about him, so there. I don't know why he came or where he

went."
"That's a thing we must follow up later," remarked Kennedy as we
made our adieus. "Just now I want to get the facts in hand. The next
thing on my programme is to see this Dr. Waterworth."
We found the doctor still in bed; in fact, a wreck as the result of his
adventure. He had little to correct in the facts of the story which had
been published so far. But there were many other details of the
poisoning he was quite willing to discuss frankly.
"It was true about the jar of ammonia?" asked Kennedy.
"Yes," he answered. "It was standing on her dressing-table with the
note crumpled up in it, just as the papers said."
"And you have no idea why it was there?"
"I didn't say that. I can guess. Fumes of ammonia are one of the
antidotes for poisoning of that kind."
"But Vera Lytton could hardly have known that," objected Kennedy.
"No, of course not. But she probably did know that ammonia is good
for just that sort of faintness which she must have experienced after
taking the powder. Perhaps she thought of sal volatile, I don't know.
But most people know that ammonia in some form is good for faintness
of this sort, even if they don't know anything about cyanides and--"
"Then it was cyanide?" interrupted Craig.
"Yes," he replied slowly. It was evident that he was suffering great
physical and nervous anguish as the result of his too intimate
acquaintance with the poisons in question. "I will tell you precisely
how is was, Professor Kennedy. When I was called in to see Miss
Lytton I found her on the bed. I pried open her jaws and smelled the
sweetish odor of the cyanogen gas. I knew then what she had taken, and
at the moment she was dead. In the next