It was done so cleverly that the inner linings
of the vein and artery, the endothelium as it is called, were in
complete contact with each other."
As I looked at the little silver thing and at Kennedy's face,
which betrayed nothing, I felt that here indeed was a mystery.
What new scientific engine of death was that little hollow
cylinder?
"Next I should like to visit the laboratory," he remarked simply.
Fortunately, the laboratory had been shut and nothing had been
disturbed except by the undertaker and his men who had carried the
body away. Strong had left word that he had gone to Boston, where,
in a safe deposit box, was a sealed envelope in which Cushing kept
a copy of the combination of his safe, which had died with him.
There was, therefore, no hope of seeing the assistant until the
morning.
Kennedy found plenty to occupy his time in his minute
investigation of the laboratory. There, for instance, was the pool
of blood leading back by a thin dark stream to the workbench and
its terrible figure, which I could almost picture to myself lying
there through the silent hours of the night before, with its life
blood slowly oozing away, unconscious, powerless to save itself.
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