isible to the searchers,
stood in the room where the discovery was made. Two of the number were
evidently angry, one in one way and one in another. The rest of the
group appeared to be very merry. One angry man was Brenton himself, who
was sullenly enraged. The other was the Frenchman, Lecocq, who was as
deeply angered as Brenton, but, instead of being sullen, was exceedingly
voluble.

"I tell you," he cried, "it is not a mistake of mine. I went on correct
principles from the first. I was misled by one who should have known
better. You will remember, gentlemen," he continued, turning first to
one and then the other, "that what I said was that we had certain facts
to go on. One of those facts I got from Mr. Brenton. I said to him in
your presence, 'Did you poison yourself?' He answered me, as I can prove
by all of you, 'No, I did not.' I took that for a fact. I thought I was
speaking to a reasonable man who knew what he was talking about."

"Haven't I told you time and again," answered Brenton, indignantly,
"that it was a mistake? You asked me if I poisoned myself. I answered
you that I did not. Your question related to suicide. I did _not_ commit
suicide. I was the victim of a druggist's mistake. If you had asked me
if I had taken medicine before I went to bed, I should have told you
frankly, 'Yes. I took one capsule of quinine.' It has been my habit for
years, when I feel badly. I thought nothing of that."

"My dear sir," said Lecocq, "I warned you, and I warned these gentlemen,
that the very things that seem trivial to a thoughtless person are the
things that sometimes count. You should have told me _everything_. If
you took anything at all, you should have said so. If you had said to
me, 'Monsieur Lecocq, before I retired I took five grains of quinine,'
I should have at once said; 'Find where that quinine is, and see if it
_is_ quinine, and see if there has not been a mistake.' I was entirely
misled; I was stupidly misled."

"Well, if there was stupidity," returned Brenton, "it was your own."

"Come, come, gentlemen," laughed Speed, "all's well that ends well.
Everybody has been mistaken, that's all about it. The best detective
minds of Europe and America, of the world, and of the spirit-land, have
been misled. You are _all_ wrong. Admit it, and let it end."

"My dear sir," said Lecocq, "I shall not admit anything. I was not
wrong; I was misled. It was this way----"

"Oh, now, for goodness' sake don't go over