"Therefore I am immediately beginning upon the obscure tests. It may take days to prove or disprove my conclusions. In the meantime, I repeat, a sleeping potion prescribed in capsule form, which the pharmacy compounded and the student nurse states she administered, explains neither the syringe puncture nor the death.
"Indications, it seems to me, point to an obscure and deadly drug. Possibly a drug which may be administered _per os_, and may have been so administered in the two previous cases. Any findings will be immediately reported to the General Staff or Dr. MacArthur."
As the last words scraped into the consciousness of the men, a solemnity comparable to that which shadows the faces of pallbearers as they watch the coffin of a beloved comrade lowered, blanketed the staff. Whatever their petty hates and puerile quarrels, so far as the reputation of the Elijah Wilson was concerned, they agreed. It must not be damaged.
"An obscure and deadly drug. Poison. And it may take days to discover it. Something we never heard of, probably." Dr. Harrison's voice seemed to be directed toward his own mind.
"Let's wait for Heddis on the chemistry, gentlemen. Ethridge and Mattus have spent the last two hours searching texts. They could find nothing. We would only waste time surmising." Then, as though Prissy's statement had just reached his brain he turned to him and said, "Yes, he might be wrong. But we can't have this thing continue, and until he is proved wrong...." He shook his head slowly, "The effect was obvious. The woman is dead."
For a full minute after Dr. MacArthur ceased speaking, no man spoke, and it was Prissy's high treble which cut into their consciences.
"Ethridge ... er ... how was she last night?"
"I saw her around seven," his voice took on its protective clip. "Her pulse was around a hundred. Considering her condition that was not odd. Her spirits were excellent. Eager for Father to go ahead with the operation. He saw her between eight and nine. Found condition quite in line with the way she was when I saw her. Is that your understanding, Dr. MacArthur?"
"And ... er ... by the way, where is your father?"
"He is doing a brain tumor, Dr. Paton," Dr. MacArthur cut in.