Stricken with a sudden horrible suspicion, Penrod entered the storeroom
in one stride and lifted the bottle of licorice water to his nose--then
to his lips. It was weak, but good; he had made no mistake. And Maurice
had really drained--to the dregs--the bottle of old hair tonics, dead
catsups, syrups of undesirable preserves, condemned extracts of
vanilla and lemon, decayed chocolate, ex-essence of beef, mixed dental
preparations, aromatic spirits of ammonia, spirits of nitre, alcohol,
arnica, quinine, ipecac, sal volatile, nux vomica and licorice water--
with traces of arsenic, belladonna and strychnine.

Penrod put the licorice water out of sight and turned to face the
others. Maurice was seating himself on a box just outside the door and
had taken a package of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Nobody can see me from here, can they?" he said, striking a match. "You
fellers smoke?"

"No," said Sam, staring at him haggardly.

"No," said Penrod in a whisper.

Maurice lit his cigarette and puffed showily.

"Well, sir," he remarked, "you fellers are certainly square--I gotta
say that much. Honest, Penrod, I thought you was after me! I did
think so," he added sunnily; "but now I guess you like me, or else
you wouldn't of stuck to it about lettin' me drink it all if I kept on
swallering."