“That’s very interesting, isn’t it?” said Munting.
“Very,” said I. My hand shook a little as I took the bottle from Leader. It was a squat, wide-mouthed glass jar, about half-full of a whitish powder, and clearly labelled “Muscarine (Synthetic) C 5 H 15 NO 3 .”
“It’s rather deadly, I suppose,” I added, with as much carelessness as I could assume.
“Fairly so,” said Leader. “Not quite as powerful as the natural stuff, I believe, but quite disagreeable enough. A teaspoonful would settle your hash all right, and leave a bit over for the dog. Nice symptoms. Sickness, blindness, delirium and convulsions.” He grinned fondly at the bottle. “Like to try some? Take it in a little water and the income-tax won’t bother you again.”
“What’s it made of, Leader?” asked Munting.
“Oh—inorganic stuff, you know—all artificial. I couldn’t say offhand. I can look it up if you like.” He hunted in a locker and produced a notebook. “Oh, yes, of course. Cholin. You start with artificial cholin.”
“What’s that? Something to do with the liver?”
“Well, yes, in the ordinary way. But you can make it by heating ethene oxide with triethylamine. That gives you your cholin. Then you oxidise it with dilute nitric acid—the stuff you etch with, you know. Result, muscarine. Pretty, isn’t it?”