“And the second suggestion? That Mrs. Inglethorp may have inadvertently taken an overdose?”
“Three, or even four doses, would not have resulted in death. Mrs. Inglethorp always had an extra large amount of medicine made up at a time, as she dealt with Coot’s, the Cash Chemists in Tadminster. She would have had to take very nearly the whole bottle to account for the amount of strychnine found at the postmortem.”
“Then you consider that we may dismiss the tonic as not being in any way instrumental in causing her death?”
A “man of method” was, in Poirot’s estimation, the highest praise that could be bestowed on any individual.
I felt that my friend was not what he had been as he rambled on disconnectedly:
“There were no stamps in his desk, but there might have been, eh, mon ami? There might have been? Yes”—his eyes