“And he died mysteriously?”
“The doctors certified that he died from natural causes – heart failure.”
“That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation’s loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon the floor was found something – a cigar – eh?”
“Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died while smoking.”
“Yes,” said the bald-headed man, bending towards the other and lowering his voice into a harsh whisper. “He died while smoking a cigar – a cigar that had been poisoned! You know it well enough. What’s the use of trying to affect ignorance —with me!”
“Well?” asked Philip Poland after a brief pause, his brows knit darkly and his face drawn and pale.
“Well, I merely wish to recall that somewhat unpleasant fact, and to tell you that I know the truth,” said the other with slow deliberation, his eyes fixed upon the man seated opposite him.
“Why recall unpleasant facts?” asked Poland, with a faint attempt to smile. “I never do.”
“A brief memory is always an advantage,” remarked Arnold Du Cane, with a sinister grin.
“Ah! I quite follow you,” Poland said, with a hardness of the mouth. “But I tell you, Arnold, I refuse to lend any hand in this crooked bit of business you’ve just put before me. Let’s talk of something else.”