The detective continued as his audience waited nervously. “In his last minutes, our dear departed friend the chemist continued working, albeit shakily, at his bench, clutching at viols and pouring clumsily. It appeared that he had been working randomly, eagerly falling back on his training to comfort him as the darkness enfolded.”
“That is … that is how it would seem to casual eye. When I inspected his body, I also inspected the tubes he had prepared before him, convinced that he was using the last of his strengths to tell the world which of you had murdered him. Each of the tubes smelt somewhat of vinegar, but they were not clear. He had clearly, that is to say, obviously, added some reagent that produced a distinctive precipitate: one of them, a pale green colour reminiscent of verdigris, the other, a deep red colour.”
“And so … I accuse you, Mister Ethan Oates!”