I sniffed. There was an unmistakable smell of garlic in the air.
"Arseniureted hydrogen," commented Craig. "This is the Marsh test
for arsenic. That wall-paper in Brixton's den has been loaded down
with arsenic, probably Paris green or Schweinfurth green, which is
aceto-arsenite of copper. Every minute he is there he is breathing
arseniureted hydrogen. Some one has contrived to introduce free
hydrogen into the intake of his ventilator. That acts on the
arsenic compounds in the wall-paper and hangings and sets free the
gas. I thought I knew the smell the moment I got a whiff of it.
Besides, I could tell by the jaundiced look of his face that he
was being poisoned. His liver was out of order, and arsenic seems
to accumulate in the liver."
"Slowly poisoned by minute quantities of gas," I repeated in
amazement. "Some one in that Red Brotherhood is a diabolical
genius. Think of it--poisoned wall-paper!"
It was still early in the forenoon when Kennedy excused himself,
and leaving me to my own devices disappeared on one of his
excursions into the underworld of the foreign settlements on the
East Side.
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