She nodded. “Shall I come back here when she's finished giving out the towels?”
But Pointer shook his head. “Hardly worth while. By the way, what time did Miss Leslie get back the day before yesterday? Pretty late, wasn't it?”
“I don't know when she got back, sir. I found her in bed when I came to do her room, which I always leaves till last so that the water will be fresher. She did have a time on the river in all that wet. Rotten it must have been. I don't wonder she didn't want to stick it out.”
“What time did you go into her room on Saturday evening, did you say?”
“After I had finished doing this one up for Mr. Beale. About eight o'clock.”
“Had you been in there after you left it at six?”
“No, sir.” The maid's eyes showed her wonder at the course of the questioning.
“We're still hoping to find out Mr. Eames' friends, and it's possible that someone may have been in here on Saturday to see him. That's why I asked about Miss Leslie. She might have heard a knock.” He handed the maid half-a-crown. “If you remember anything else let me know. However insignificant.”
“I will, thank you, sir,” and Maggie closed the door behind her.
After lunch the results of the autopsy reached the Chief Inspector. Morphia had been drunk in a quantity which made the police-officer open his eyes. It would be difficult for anyone but a chemist to lay his hand on such a solution. “There is one thing,” the doctor's scribble finished, “that dose could never have had its taste disguised. Or at least it would have been uncommonly difficult.”