as near it as he could. He held his cap in his hands, twisting it very carefully round and round. His back was much bent, though he was probably not as old as he looked, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent, and belied his slow and rather cautious speech.
“Manning,” said John, “this gentleman will put some questions to you which I want you to answer.”
“Yes sir,” mumbled Manning.
Poirot stepped forward briskly. Manning’s eye swept over him with a faint contempt.
“You were planting a bed of
his finger into liquid, and tasted it gingerly. He made a grimace.
“Coco—with—I think—rum in it.”
He passed on to the debris on the floor, where the table by the bed had been overturned. A reading-lamp, some books, matches, a bunch of keys, and the crushed fragments of a coffee-cup lay scattered about.