What was he doing? His jaw was moving up and down. He seemed biting at
his wrist.
Suddenly there was a slight, tearing, ripping noise, followed by a jerk
backwards of his head and a deep intake of the breath.
"What is he doing?" Rolston said, turning round with the receiver of the
telephone at his ear.
Midwinter held out his arm. I saw that the braid round the cuff of his
morning coat was hanging in a little strip.
"I told you I always had something in reserve," he said, showing all his
teeth as he grinned at me. "Always something up my sleeve--literally, in
this case. I have just swallowed a little capsule of prussic acid
which--"
If you want to learn of how a man dies who has swallowed hydrocyanic
acid--the correct term, I believe--consult a medical dictionary. It is
not a pleasant thing to see in actual operation, but, thank heavens, it
is speedy!
The sweat was pouring down my face when it was over, but Bill Rolston
had not turned a hair.
"Put something over his face, Sir Thomas," he said, "and I'll get
through to Mr. Morse."