And he died mysteriously?” “The doctors certified that he died from natural causes–heart failure.” “That is what the world believes, of course. His death was a nation’s loss, and the truth was hushed up. But you, Phil Poland, know it. Upon the floor was found something–a cigar–eh?” “Nothing very extraordinary in that, surely? He died while smoking.” “Yes,” said the bald-headed man, bending towards the other and lowering his voice into a harsh whisper. “He died while smoking a cigar–a cigar that had been poisoned! You know it well enough. What’s the use of trying to affect ignorance–_with me_!” “Well?” asked Philip Poland after a brief pause, his brows knit darkly and his face drawn and pale. “Well, I merely wish to recall that somewhat unpleasant fact, and to tell you that I know the truth,” said the other with slow deliberation, his eyes fixed upon the man seated opposite him. “Why recall unpleasant facts?” asked Poland, with a faint attempt to smile. “I never do.”
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