And the astrologer took the lamp from the
table and moved towards the door, ready to
light his visitor down the stairs. There was a
courtesy in his action which there was no
resisting. His appearance was calm and unruffled,
but his countenance was more grave than was
its wont, and those who knew the philosopher's
face would have been able to see that he
had been much hurt by what had just taken
place.

Jane Cantanker passed down the stairs and
out of the house without another word being
exchanged between her and the astrologer, who
escorted her to the last. He heaved a deep
sigh as he closed the door after her, and paused
a moment before he again ascended the stairs.

"What was that name," he asked himself,
"against which she bore such hatred? 'Gabrielle,’
I remember, she spoke it twice. But I
forget the other name. 'Gabrielle'—'Gabrielle'
—no I have forgotten."

CHAPTER XXIV. THE CHAIN COMPLETE.

THREE days elapsed after the adjournment of
the inquest before the inquiry was again
resumed, and during this interval the police were
hard at work trying to collect any additional
evidence that might bear upon the case. Their
chief object, of course, was to find out where
that poison by which it had been conclusively
proved that Miss Carrington had died had been
procured. Her rooms were searched most
diligently and thoroughly for any bottle or even a
detached label which might indicate that she
had bought the drug herself, and show where
she had procured it. But no such thing could
be found. It was then determined to take the
different chemists' shops, beginning in the
immediate neighbourhood, and gradually extending
the operations to a wider radius, and to make
inquiry at each, with a view of ascertaining whether
any person answering to the description of the
deceased lady had been there with the object of
purchasing laudanum. The Trades Directory
was consulted, and a list of the chemists and
druggists extracted from it, a mark being set
against the name of each member of the
pharmaceutical fraternity as it appeared in the
volume, thus: Roberts, James, ivory turner;
*Groves, William, chemist; Peterkin, Andrew,
licensed victualler; Roper, Thomas, basketmaker,
Voker, Alfred, herbalist and seedsman;
Snooks, Frederick, fancy stationer; *Drew,
Jonas, chemist; and so on. The names of the
chemists were then extracted with great ease,
and written down upon paper.

The inquiries made by the police were—as far
as the discovery of any purchase made by the
deceased lady was concerned—entirely in vain.
They could find no trace of any purchase of
laudanum having been made by any such person.
It was not long, however, before their researches
were turned into another channel.

Jane Cantanker could flnd no rest for her soul
while haunted by the thought that the murderer
of her dear mistress—which, it must be
remembered, she fully believed Mrs. Penmore to
be—was going about, at large, and unpunished.
So she also set herself to work in imitation of
the police authorities to visit the different
chemists' shops, but with a different discovery
in view. She was on another track, the track
of Gabrielle Penmore. Had she had laudanum
in her possession about this time? Was it not
more important to find that out than anything
else? Was it not possible for her—Jane
Cantanker—to make that great discovery?

It was so. She worked with a will, and very
soon her efforts were crowned with success. At
a chemist's shop not very far from the house in
Beaumont-street, Cantanker discovered that Mrs.
Penmore had been in the habit of dealing for
medicine, and here she ascertained that on a
certain day, some three weeks since, Gabrielle
had made the damning purchase of a two-ounce
bottle of laudanum!

Jane Cantanker's breath came thick and fast
as she made this tremendous discovery, and her
knees trembled so under her that she was hardly
able to stand at the counter.

"Have you got that down in your book?"
she said, as soon as she could trust herself to
speak.

"Oh, certainly," replied the druggist, a smug
gentleman in spectacles, who seemed much
astonished.

"And there is no danger of it's being lost?"

"How can there be?" asked the other, with
a touch of contempt in his tone, and giving his
ledger an affectionate slap. "The book's big
enough."

Cantanker waited a little, trying to remember
whether she had any other question to ask.

"What, it's down in the big book?" she
asked, with a gasp of satisfaction.

"Yes," said the chemist.

"What sort of a bottle would it be in?" she
said. "A large bottle?"

"Two-ounce phial similar to this," replied the
chemist, producing one, "made of blue glass,
ribbed so as to affect the touch, orange label
outside 'Poison,' and another 'for external
use,’ that being what it was wanted for."

"There's something up," remarked the
chemist to his chief assistant, as Cantanker,
after thanking him for his courtesy, and once
more entreating him to be careful of the entry
which told so important a tale, left the shop
with hurried steps and with considerable agitation
in her demeanour.

Cantanker made the best of her way to the
police-station, and there imparted her story to
the inspector on duty. She was beginning to
be known here, and to be highly respected as
well, in consequence of the decided and
uncompromising manner in which she had conducted
herself at the inquest. The inspector paid her
a compliment or two on her energy and devotedness,
and, after taking down what she had said,
despatched one of his most trusted emissaries
straight to the chemist's to take his deposition
in form.

The policeman had a thick note-book bound