It would have been just as easy for Phadrig to have caused him to look upon the fatal gem, left a bottle of poison with him, and told him to take it as medicine on going to bed.

The only difference would have been that there would have been a very much greater sensation in the papers.
Nicol Hendry was reading the paragraph about the same time.

His eyes contracted, and he stroked his beard with slow motions of his hand.

The hand was steady, but even his nerves quivered a little.

He divined instantly how the suicide-murder had been brought about, and this very fact, coupled with the absolute impossibility of proving anything, made the affair all the more disquieting.
"So that is the sort of thing we've got to fight, is it?
I don't like it.