“Poisoned!” pronounced the doctor, after a short interval. “Prussic acid, by all signs of it, but I can’t be sure till I’ve made a postmortem. You’ll have him taken to the mortuary, of course? Queer place to choose for suicide. How did he get in here?”

Inspector Whyland shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a case of suicide, doctor. Look here!”

He pointed to the numbered counter. The doctor glanced at it and sniffed contemptuously. “You fellows have got counters on the brain since that business last month,” he said. “How do you know he didn’t put it there himself to throw you off the scent? It’s not uncommon for suicides to try and make their deaths look like murder. You’ll find there’s some question of insurance behind it. Well, I’ll be along at the mortuary and let you know the result of the P.M. ”