"This is Dr. Markfield’s laboratory, sir," their pilot finally informed them as he knocked on a door. "Two gentlemen to see you, sir," he announced, standing aside to allow Sir Clinton and the Inspector to enter.
As they walked into the laboratory, Trevor Markfield came towards them from one of the benches at which he had been occupied. His face betrayed his slight surprise at finding two strangers before him.
"What can I do for you!" he inquired politely, but without any needless effusiveness.
Flamborough, in response to an almost imperceptible gesture from his superior, stepped to the front.
"This is Sir Clinton Driffield, the Chief Constable, Dr. Markfield. I’m Inspector Flamborough. We’ve called to see if you could give us some expert assistance in a case."
Markfield, after a glance at a water-bath on which a flask was being heated, led the way to a little office which adjoined the laboratory and closed the door behind the party.
"We shall be more private here," he said, inviting them with a gesture to take chairs. "One of my assistants will be back shortly, and I take it that your business is likely to be confidential."
The Inspector agreed with a nod.
"It’s a poisoning case and we’ll need some help in detecting the poison."
"That’s a bit vague," Markfield commented with a smile. "There are so many kinds of poisons, you know. If it’s arsenic or anything of that sort, a first-year student could spot it for you; but if it’s one of the organic lot, it’ll be a stiff business most likely."
"It looks like one of the mydriatic alkaloids," Sir Clinton put in. "Atropine, or something akin to it. The eye-pupils of the body were dilated."
Markfield considered for a moment.
"I’ve done some alkaloid work in my time," he explained, "but I suppose in a case of this kind you ought to have the best man. Some of the alkaloids are the very devil to spot when you’ve only a small quantity. I’d like the fee for the case, of course," he added with a faint smile, "but the truth is that Dr. Silverdale, my chief, is an alkaloid specialist. He’s worked on them for years, and he could give me points all along the line. I’ll take you along to his room now."
He rose from his chair, but a gesture from Flamborough arrested him.
"I’m afraid that would hardly do, Dr. Markfield. As a matter of fact, it’s Mrs. Silverdale’s death that we’re inquiring into!"
Markfield could not repress an exclamation at the Inspector’s statement.
"Mrs. Silverdale? You don’t mean to say that anything’s happened to her? Good God! I knew the girl quite well. Nobody could have a grudge against her."
He glanced from one official to the other, as though doubting his ears.
"Wait a bit," he added, after a moment’s pause. "Perhaps I’ve taken you up wrong. Do you mean Yvonne Silverdale?"
"Yes," the Inspector confirmed.
Markfield’s face showed a struggle between incredulity and belief.
"But that girl hadn’t an enemy in the world, man," he broke out at last. "The thing’s clean impossible."
"I’ve just seen her body," said the Inspector curtly.
The blunt statement seemed to have its effect.
"Well, if that’s so, you can count on me for any work you want me to do. I’m quite willing to take it on."
"That’s very satisfactory, Dr. Markfield," Sir Clinton interposed. "Now, perhaps you could give us help in another line as well. You seem to have been a friend of Mrs. Silverdale’s. Could you tell us anything about her—anything you think might be useful to us?"
A fresh thought seemed to pass through Markfield’s mind and a faint suggestion of distrust appeared on his face.
"Well, I’m ready to answer any questions you care to put," he said, though there seemed to be a certain reluctance in his voice.
Sir Clinton’s attitude indicated that it was the turn of the Inspector. Flamborough pulled out his notebook.
"First of all, then, Dr. Markfield, could you tell us when you first became acquainted with Mrs. Silverdale?"
"Shortly after she and her husband came to Westerhaven. That’s about three years ago, roughly."
"You knew her fairly well?"
"I used to see her at dances and so forth. Lately, I’ve seen less of her. She picked up other friends, naturally; and I don’t dance much nowadays."
"She danced a good deal, I understand. Can you tell me any particular people who associated with her frequently in recent times?"
"I daresay I could give you a list of several. Young Hassendean was one. She used him as a kind of dancing-partner, from all I heard; but I go out so little nowadays that I can’t speak from much direct knowledge on the point."
"What sort of person was Mrs. Silverdale, in your judgment?"
Markfield took a little time to consider this question.
"She was French, you know," he replied. "I always found her very bright. Some people called her frivolous. She was out to enjoy herself, of course. Naturally she was a bit out of place in a backwater like this. She got some people’s backs up, I believe. Women didn’t like her being so smartly-dressed and all that."
"Have you any reason to suppose that she took drugs?"
