CONTRARY TO HIS MOST DEARLY HELD HOPES, Doctor Montes was forced to agree with my diagnosis. Mary had died from strychnine poisoning.
Calmly and authoritatively, the Commissioner ordered the police officers to follow him.
“With your permission,” he told us, “we shall move on to a search of each of your rooms.”
I approved the course of action. The Commissioner addressed me:
“We’ll begin with yours, Doctor. Unless anyone present cares to declare possession of strychnine.”
No one responded. Not even I. The Commissioner’s words had stunned me. I had never imagined that they would search my room.
“Do not involve me in this matter,” I said at last. “I am a doctor … I demand to be respected.”
“Forgive me,” replied the Commissioner. “Everyone must be measured by the same yardstick.”
He seemed to be suggesting that this “stick” was not merely metaphorical.
Reluctantly I led, or, more accurately, followed them to my room. My very own Mount Calvary awaited me, along with the satisfaction of confirming the perfect control I maintain over my nerves. Helpless, as if they had injected me with curare, I was obliged to stand tolerantly by as those rude hands defiled the interior of my suitcase and, even more stupefying, as, one by one, they opened the vials in my medicine kit, fragile and delicate as virgins.
“Be careful, gentlemen!” I exclaimed, unable to contain myself. “Those are extremely precise dosages. Don’t you understand? Any odor, any contact at all can negate the efficacy of those medications.”
I had achieved my goal. The men set upon my medicine kit with renewed ferocity. I slipped between the violators and the nightstand. With my right hand resting casually on the marble tabletop, I retrieved the vial of arsenic. I was prepared to suffer any indignity save the confiscation of those drops, the pillars of my health.
When the police at last finished their inspection of my medicine kit, I dropped the arsenic in among the other vials. I believed myself saved, but fate had reserved other trials for me. Sending a chill through my very soul, I heard the Commissioner declare:
“Next we’ll have a look at the pills.”
I decoded his ignorant words: he was referring to my drops. Naturally, I assumed he would inspect them right then and there. But Commissioner Aubry, with a lack of logic equaled only by his lack of courtesy, moved on to Cornejo’s room, leaving me free to take whatever precautions I deemed prudent.