“By all means. Which way do you go?”
“Bloomsbury,” said I, hoping desperately that he lived at Hendon or Harringay.
“Excellent, I am going that way myself. Shall we share a taxi?”
I murmured something about Professor Matthews.
“No, no,” said he, “I’m going by tube to Earl’s Court.”
We found our taxi and got in.
“Well, now?” said Waters.
I was in for it now. I told him the whole story.
“By God,” he said, “that’s damned interesting. Fine idea for a murder. Of course, any jury in the country would be only too ready to believe it was accident. Tempting Providence, and all that. And unless your man was fool enough to use the synthetic muscarine in its racemic form, you know, I’m very much afraid he’s pulled it off. There’s a chance, of course. They may not have gone further than that. Why didn’t you ask Benson while you were about it?”
“I thought of doing so,” I admitted. “At least, I didn’t know about this racemic business, but I thought there might be some way of telling the artificial stuff from the real. But Harrison seemed satisfied—”
“He would be. I know these people. Wrapped up in their own subjects. An engineer— he ought to know something about molecular structure. But no. He’s no occasion to study Organic, so it doesn’t occur to him that there’s anything to know about it. The word of a first-year student at Anthony’s is enough for him. You have more imagination. Why didn’t you—?”