to me. She wants Evie to stay on, is begging her to, but she doesn’t want me, and—and—I don’t know what to do.” Suddenly the poor child burst out crying.
I don’t know what possessed me. Her beauty, perhaps, as she sat there, with the sunlight glinting down on her head; perhaps the sense of relief at encountering someone who so obviously could have no connection with the tragedy; perhaps honest pity for her youth and loneliness. Anyway, I leant forward, and taking her little hand, I said awkwardly:
the face of it, points to the drug having been taken much later in the evening.”
“Mrs. Inglethorp was in the habit of drinking a cup of coco in the middle of the night. Could the strychnine have been administered in that?”
“No, I myself took a sample of the coco remaining in the saucepan and had it analysed. There was no strychnine present.”