“Yes?” said Tommy encouragingly.
“It is not really an idea. I suppose it is just a prejudice.”
“A prejudice against someone?”
Tuppence nodded.
“Tommy-did you like Mary Chilcott?”
Tommy considered.
“Yes, I think I did. She struck me as extremely capable and businesslike-perhaps a shade too much so-but very reliable.”
“You didn’t think it was odd that she didn’t seem more upset?”
“Well, in a way that is a point in her favor. I mean, if she had done anything, she would make a point of being upset-lay it on rather thick.”
“I suppose so,” said Tuppence. “And anyway there doesn’t seem to be any motive in her case. One doesn’t see what good this wholesale slaughter can do her.”
“I suppose none of the servants are concerned?”
“It doesn’t seem likely. They seem a quiet reliable lot. I wonder what Esther Quant, the parlormaid, was like.”
“You mean, that if she was young and good-looking there was a chance that she was mixed up in it some way.”
“That is what I mean.” Tuppence sighed. “It is all very discouraging.”
“Well, I suppose the police will get down to it all right,” said Tommy.
“Probably. I should like it to be us. By the way, did you notice a lot of small red dots on Miss Logan’s arm?”
“I don’t think I did. What about them?”
“They looked as though they were made by a hypodermic syringe,” said Tuppence.
“Probably Dr. Burton gave her a hypodermic injection of some kind.”
“Oh, very likely. But he wouldn’t give her about forty.”
“The cocaine habit,” suggested Tommy helpfully.
“I thought of that,” said Tuppence, “but her eyes were all right. You would see at once if it was cocaine or morphia. Besides she doesn’t look that sort of old lady.”
“Most respectable and God fearing” agreed Tommy.
“It is all very difficult,” said Tuppence. “We have talked and talked and we don’t seem any nearer now than we were. Don’t let’s forget to call at the doctor’s on our way home.”
The doctor’s door was opened by a lanky boy of about fifteen.
“Mr. Blunt?” he inquired. “Yes, the doctor is out but he left a note for you in case you should call.”
He handed them the note in question and Tommy tore it open.
“Dear Mr. Blunt,
There is reason to believe that the poison employed
was Ricin, a vegetable toxalbumose of tremendous
potency. Please keep this to yourself for the present.”
Tommy let the note drop, but picked it up quickly.
“Ricin,” he murmured. “Know anything about it, Tuppence? You used to be rather well up in these things.”
“Ricin,” said Tuppence, thoughtfully. “You get it out of Castor Oil, I believe.”
“I never did take kindly to Castor Oil,” said Tommy. “I am more set against it than ever now.”
“The oil’s all right. You get Ricin from the seeds of the Castor Oil plant. I believe I saw some Castor Oil plants in the garden this morning-big things with glossy leaves.”
“You mean that someone extracted the stuff on the premises. Could Hannah do such a thing?
Tuppence shook her head.
“Doesn’t seem likely. She wouldn’t know enough.”
Suddenly Tommy gave an exclamation.
“That book. Have I got it in my pocket still? Yes.” He took it out, and turned over the leaves vehemently. “I thought so. Here’s the page it was open at this morning. Do you see, Tuppence? Ricin!”
Tuppence seized the book from him.
“Can you make head or tail of it? I can’t.”
“It’s clear enough to me,” said Tuppence. She walked along, reading busily, with one hand on Tommy’s arm to steer herself. Presently she shut the book with a bang. They were just approaching the house again.
“Tommy, will you leave this to me? Just for once, you see, I am the bull that has been more than twenty minutes in the arena.”
Tommy nodded.
“You shall be the Captain of the Ship, Tuppence,” he said gravely. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”
“First of all,” said Tuppence as they entered the house, “I must ask Miss Logan one more question.”
She ran upstairs. Tommy followed her. She rapped sharply on the old lady’s door, and went in.