It is made of the toughest
steel and would turn a bullet. And do you see how it is depressed in
the middle, Lester?"
"Yes," I said, "I was wondering why you had it made in that shape."
"I want to get a sample of that poison. My theory is that when the
fangs strike the hand, the shock drives out a drop or two of the
poison. I don't want those drops to get away; I want them to roll
into this depression, and I shall very carefully bottle them. Think
what they are, Lester--the poison of the Medici!"
I sat for a moment looking at him, half in amusement, half in sorrow.
It seemed a pity that his theory must come tumbling down, it was so
picturesque, and he was so interested and enthusiastic over it. And
it would make such a good story! He caught my glance, and put the
gauntlet back into his pocket.
"Well, what is it?" he asked quietly.
For answer, I got out the cablegram and passed it across to him. He
read it with brows contracted.
"That seems to put a puncture in our little romance, doesn't it?" I
asked, at last.
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes, it does," and he read the message again, word by word.
"Armand's man hasn't called yet?"
"No, I didn't get the message till about three o'clock.
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