Call Mr. Fortune. Henry Christopher Bailey
two walked forward.
"Sir Lawson Hunter, sir." The footman tried in vain to see the Archduke.
"Yes, bring him up," Reggie said.
Sir Lawson bustled in. "New case for you, sir." The two men moved apart and Sir Lawson saw the body.
"Poisoned himself. Taken strychnine," Lomas said.
"Oh, don't bias him," said Reggie. "He doesn't like that."
"Good Gad!" Sir Lawson's eyes bulged.
"Yes, that beats me. Fortune." Lomas waved his hand at the body. "I would have sworn he hadn't the pluck."
"Oh, he hadn't. He meant it for me. I changed the cups."
"You——" Lomas stared at him. "That was when you heard the car!"
"That was why I heard the car."
"And you let him take the dose!"
"Yes. Seemed fair. You see, I picked up that poor fellow he smashed last night."
"Good Gad!" said Sir Lawson.
The footman was again at the door. Dr. Fortune was wanted at the telephone. "There's one here, isn't there? Put me through." The footman, hardly able to speak at the sight of the dead Archduke, retired gulping.
The bell rang. Reggie took up the receiver. "Yes. Yes, At once," and he put it down. "I must be going. Serious case. Mrs. Jones's little girl may have German measles."
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