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95 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1938
Then Markham turned back to Vance. “And as for you,” he said with good-natured effrontery, “I think you’re a raving maniac.”
“Granted,” said Vance. “No de lunatic inquirendo* writ necess’ry.”
…
“What a beastly matutinal odyssey, Sergeant!” Vance shuddered dolefully. “And what befell when you came at last to the hut of Eumœus**?”
“The guy’s name is Robbin, like I told you. And he don’t live in a hut…”
…
“I don’t blame you, Mr. Vance. I’m hot and annoyed. Maybe I do sound as if I was messing around with ancient Egyptians, and mandragora, and viper venoms, and secret Gypsy potions, and witches’ ointments with their henbane, and Borgia poisons, and Perugia water, and Aqua Tofana.”
…
“The Tofana the doctor mentioned died in Sicily in the seventeenth century. And she wasn’t a fortune-teller. Far from it. She devoted her talents to mixing a liquid which has since come to be known by her name. Aqua Tofana was a deadly poison; and this woman plied her poisoning trade on such a wholesale scale that the name of her concoction has never been forgot. Though her mixture was probably nothing but a strong solution of arsenic, there’s still a lot of mystery attaching to it.”