They all stared at him. Quest seized the ink bottle, revealed the false top and laid it down again with a little exclamation. Then, before they could realize it, the end came. The Professor lay, a crumpled-up heap, upon the floor. The last change of all had taken place in his face. His arms were outstretched, his face deathly white, his lips faintly curved in the half amiable, half supercilious smile of the savant who sees beyond. Quest stooped over him.
“He is dead,” he declared.
* * * * *
Quest swung round in his chair as French entered the room, and held out his left hand.
“Glad to see you, French. Help yourself to a cigar.”
“I don’t know as I want to smoke this morning just at present, thank you,” French replied.
Quest laid down his pen and looked up. French was fidgeting about with his hat in his hand. He was dressed more carefully than usual, but he was obviously ill at ease.
“Nothing wrong, eh?”
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” French admitted. “I just looked in—”
Quest waited for a moment. Then he crossed his legs and assumed a patient attitude.
“What the dickens did you look in for?” he asked.
“The fact of it is,” French explained, “I should like a few words with Miss Laura.”
Quest laughed shortly.
“Why on earth couldn’t you say so?” he observed. “Never knew you bashful before, Inspector. She’s up in the laboratory. I’ll ring for some one to show you the way.”
Quest touched the bell and his new secretary entered almost at once.
“Take Inspector French up into the laboratory,” Quest directed. “See you later, French.”
“Yes—perhaps—I hope so,” the Inspector replied nervously.
Quest watched him disappear, with a puzzled smile.
Then he sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write:
“My dear Inspector,
“I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of criminology for a safer and happier career. You will have, therefore, to find help elsewhere in the future.
“With best wishes,
“Yours,
“SANFORD QUEST.”
He left the sheet of paper upon the desk and, ringing the bell, sent for Lenora. She appeared in a few moments and came over to his side.
“What is it, Mr. Quest?” she asked.
He gave her the letter without remark. She read it through and, turning slowly around, looked at him expectantly.
“How’s that seem to you?” he asked, reaching out his hand for a cigar.
“Very sensible indeed,” she replied.
“It’s no sort of life, this, for a married man,” Quest declared. “You agree with me there, don’t you, Lenora?”