Mr. Barnes stood for a moment in a quandary, and then decided upon a course of action. He touched the bell which he knew would call the butler, and then sat down by the grate fire to wait. Almost immediately his eye fell upon a bit of white paper protruding from beneath a small rug, and he picked it up. Examining it closely, he guessed that it had once contained some medicine in powder form, but nothing in the shape of a label, or traces of the powder itself, was there to tell what the drug had been. Mr. Barnes "I wonder," thought he, "whether this bit of paper would furnish me with a clue? I must have it examined by a chemist. He may discern by his methods what I cannot detect with the naked eye." With this thought in his mind, he carefully folded the paper in its original creases and deposited it in his wallet. At that moment the butler entered. "What is your name?" asked Mr. Barnes. "Thomas, sir," said the man, a fine specimen of the intelligent New York negro. "Thomas Jefferson." "Well, Thomas, I am a detective, and your mistress wishes me to look into the peculiar circumstances which, as you know, have occurred. Are you willing to help me?" "I'll do anything for the mistress, sir." "Very good. That is quite proper. Now, then, do you remember your master's death?" [Pg 33] "Yes, sir." [Pg 33] "And his funeral?" "Yes, sir." "You know when the undertaker and his men came and went, and how often, I presume? You let them in and saw them?" "I let them in, yes, sir. But once or twice they went out without my knowing." "At five o'clock on the afternoon before the funeral, I am told that Mrs. Quadrant visited the room where the body was, and ordered that the coffin should be closed for the last time. Did you know this?"
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