then the telephone rang and Faber reached for it before we could
thank him and say good-night.

"Hello--oh, Miss Tourville, how do you do? Why--er--yes--yes, I'm
listening."

They chatted for several minutes, Faber answering mostly in
monosyllables. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought the
conversation, at least at his end of the line, constrained. As he hung
up the receiver, I fancied, too, that Faber seemed to look on us with a
sort of suspicion. What was his connection with Rita, I wondered? What
had Rita told him?

A moment later we had said good-by and had gained the street, Kennedy
still making no comment on the case.

"There's nothing more that we can do tonight," remarked Craig, looking
at his watch finally as we walked along. "Let us go over to the City
Laboratory and see Dr. Leslie, as I promised Blythe."

CHAPTER XX

THE MECHANICAL CONNOISSEUR

Dr. Leslie, the Coroner, was an old friend of ours with whom we had
co-operated in several cases. When we reached his office we found Dr.
Blythe there already, waiting for us.

"Have you found anything yet?" asked Dr. Blythe with what I felt was
just a trace of professional pique at the fact that neither physician
had been able to shed any light on the case so far.

"I can't say--yet," responded Craig, not noticing Blythe's manner, as
from the piece of tissue paper in which he had wrapped them he produced
the broken bits of bottle.

Carefully he washed off the jagged pieces, as though perhaps some of the
liquid the bottle had contained might have adhered to the glass.

"I suppose you have animals here for experiment?" he asked of Leslie.

The Coroner nodded.

"Chickens?" asked Craig with a broad smile at the double meaning.

"A Leghorn rooster," returned Dr. Leslie with a laugh.

"Good--bring him on," replied Craig briskly.

Quickly Kennedy shot a small quantity of the liquid he had obtained by
washing the bits of glass into the veins of the white Leghorn. Then he
released the rooster, flapping about.

In a corner chanticleer stood, preening his feathers and restoring his
ruffled dignity, while we compared opinions.

"Look!" exclaimed Kennedy a few minutes later, when we had almost
forgotten the rooster.

His bright red comb was now whitish. As we watched, a moment later it
turned dark blue. Otherwise, however, he seemed unaffected.

"What is it?" I asked in amazement, turning to Craig.

"Ergot, I think," he replied tersely. "