"Well, at 2210, give or take a couple of minutes, the Kragan
guard-sergeant on that floor heard ten pistol-shots, as fast as they
could be fired semi-auto, in the governor's room. The door was locked,
but he shot it off with his own pistol and went in. He found Governor
Harrington on the floor, wearing only his gown, holding an empty
pistol. He was in convulsions, frothing at the mouth, in horrible
pain. Evidently he'd fired his pistol, which he kept on his desk, to
call help; all the bullets had gone into the ceiling. The sergeant
punched the emergency button, beside the bed, and reported, then tried
to help the governor, but it was too late. One of the medics got there
in five minutes, just as he was dying. He'd written his diary up to
noon of today, and broken off in the middle of a word. There was a
bottle and an overturned glass on his desk. The Constabulary got there
a few minutes later, and then Brigadier-General M'zangwe took charge.
A white rat, given fifteen drops from the whiskey-bottle, died with
the same symptoms in about ninety seconds."
"Who had access to the whiskey-bottle?"
"A geek servant, who takes care of the room.
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