Richardson rose to his
feet.
"I'm not going to stay here to be bullied and cross examined," he
declared. "I'm off!"
"One moment," Wingrave said. "If you leave me now, I shall ask the
captain to place you under arrest."
Richardson looked half fearfully around.
"What for?"
"Attempted murder! Very clumsily attempted, but attempted murder none
the less."
The young man collapsed. Wingrave's servant came down the deck.
"You sent for me, sir?" he inquired respectfully.
Wingrave pointed towards his companion.
"Was that the person whom you saw coming out of my state room?" he
asked.
"Yes sir," the man replied at once.
"You could swear to him, if necessary?"
"Certainly, sir."
"That will do, Morrison."
The man withdrew. Wingrave turned to his victim. "A few weeks ago," he
remarked, "I had a visit from the lady whose handwriting is upon that
envelope. I had on the table before me a box of phenacetine lozenges.
She naturally concluded that I was in the habit of using them. That
lady has unfortunately cause to consider me, if not an enemy,
something very much like it. You are in correspondence with her. Only
last night you placed in my box of these lozenges some others, closely
resembling them, but fortunately a little different in shape. Mine
were harmless--as a matter of fact, a single one of yours would kill a
man in ten minutes. Now, Mr. Richardson, what have you to say about
all this? Why should I not send for the captain, and have you locked
up till we arrive at New York?"
Richardson drew his handkerchief across his damp forehead.
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