"Yes," he resumed. "I thought as much. Vera Lytton belonged to the
colony. A very talented girl, too--you remember her in 'The Taming of
the New Woman' last season? Well, to get back to the facts as we know
them at present.

"Here is a girl with a brilliant future on the stage discovered by her
friend, Mrs. Boncour, in convulsions--practically insensible--with a
bottle of headache-powder and a jar of ammonia on her dressing-table.
Mrs. Boncour sends the maid for the nearest doctor, who happens to be
a Dr. Waterworth. Meanwhile she tries to restore Miss Lytton, but
with no result. She smells the ammonia and then just tastes the
headache-powder, a very foolish thing to do, for by the time Dr.
Waterworth arrives he has two patients."

"No," I corrected, "only one, for Miss Lytton was dead when he
arrived, according to his latest statement."

"Very well, then--one. He arrives, Mrs. Boncour is ill, the maid knows
nothing at all about it, and Vera Lytton is dead. He, too, smells the
ammonia, tastes the headache-powder--just the merest trace--and then
he has two patients, one of them himself. We must see him, for his
experience must have been appalling. How he ever did it I
can't imagine, but he saved both himself and Mrs. Boncour from
poisoning--cyanide, the papers say, but of course we can't accept that
until we see. It seems to me, Walter, that lately the papers have made
the rule in murder cases: When in doubt, call it cyanide."

Not relishing Kennedy in the humor of expressing his real opinion
of the newspapers, I hastily turned the conversation back again by