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274 "Oh, Adams is a pettifogging old ass," the boy returned carelessly. Then his eyes narrowed. "What's the game?"

"Just this." The detective leaned forward suddenly until his eyes were almost on a level with the dark, sardonic ones upturned morosely to him. "Suppose that I knew no more about poisons than—well, than I could learn from glancing through these books of yours at odd times or asking casual questions of some family practitioner. What poison would it be easiest for me to obtain without comment in any drugstore?"

The boy shrugged.

"Carbolic, or any of the acids for eradicating spots or verdigris, I suppose. They'd be pretty average deadly; but none of them would have worked, if you are still harping on my mother's case."

"I don't mean anything of that sort," Odell explained. "I have in mind some poison which would work gradually and be practically tasteless; something which could be given in the victim's food, perhaps, and produce symptoms which might easily be mistaken for those resulting from some trivial indisposition."

Rannie's eyes widened and their morose stare gave place to one of grudging admiration.

"So you're on that tack, are you?" he asked. "I was only waiting till I was sure before springing it on you myself. This is an old house, you know; there are plenty of mice and rats in the walls, and there is a certain white powder which exterminates them quicker than anything else, and which would be sold without question for that purpose in any drugstore if one's appearance and manner didn't