He
opened it, and in it displayed a number of tiny globes and tubes
of thin glass, each with a liquid in it, some lozenges, some
bonbons, and several cigars and cigarettes.
"I'm doing this," he remarked, "to show you, Tom, that I'm not
unduly magnifying the danger that surrounds Violet Winslow, after
hearing what I did over that detectaphone. Perhaps it didn't
impress you, but I think I know something of what we're up
against."
From another part of the case he drew a peculiar looking affair
and handed to me without a word. It consisted of a glass syringe
about two inches long, fitted with a glass plunger and an asbestos
washer. On the other end of the tube was a hollow point, about
three-eighths of an inch long--just a shiny little bit of steel
such as he had already showed me.
I looked at it curiously and, in spite of my former assurance,
began to wonder whether, after all, the possibility of a girl
being struck down suddenly, without warning, in a public place and
robbed--or worse--might not take on the guise of ghastly reality.
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