of myself, my opinion of his sagacity was immeasurably heightened. I would never have dreamt of suspecting the doctor, had not Poirot put it into my head. Yes, decidedly, the little man was clever.
After some reflecting, I decided to take John into my confidence, and leave him to make the matter public or not, as he thought fit.
He gave vent to a prodigious whistle, as I imparted the news.
“Great Scot! You were right, then. I couldn’t believe it at the time.”
“No, it is astonishing until you
“How do you make that out, Mr. Cavendish?”
“My mother, at the time of her death, and for some time before it, was taking a tonic containing strychnine.”
“Ah!” said the Coroner.
The jury looked up, interested.
“I believe,” continued Lawrence, “that there have been cases where the cumulative effect