CHAPTER XXXVII.
"O, ABOVE MEASURE FALSE!"
Victor Carrington was very well content with the state of affairs at
Hilton House in all but one respect. The fulfilment of his purpose was
not approaching with sufficient rapidity. The rich marriage which he
had talked about for Reginald was a pure figment; the virtuous
ironmonger, with the richly dowered daughter, existed only in his
prolific brain--the need of money was growing pressing. He had done
much, but there was still much to do, and he must make haste to do it.
He had also been mistaken on one point of much importance to his
success; he had not calculated on the strength of Douglas Dale's
constitution. Each day that he dined with Paulina--and the days on
which he did not were exceedingly few--Dale drank a small quantity of
curacoa, into which Carrington had poured poison of a slow but sure
nature. As the small carafon in which the liquor was placed upon the
table was emptied, the poisoner never found any difficulty in gaining
access to the fresh supply.
The antique liquor-chest, with its fittings of Venetian glass was
always kept on the side-board in the dining-room, and was never locked.
Paulina had a habit of losing anything that came into her hands, and
the key of the liquor-chest had long been missing.
But the time was passing, and the poison was not telling, as far as he,
the poisoner, could judge from appearances, on Douglas Dale.
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