“I’d forgotten that,” I admitted. “But it was only for a moment.”
“Long enough.”
“Long enough for what?”
Poirot’s smile became rather enigmatical.
“Long enough for a gentleman who had once studied medicine to gratify a very natural interest and curiosity.”
Our eyes met. Poirot’s were pleasantly vague. He got up and hummed a little tune. I watched him suspiciously.
“Poirot,” I said, “what was in this particular little bottle?”
Poirot looked out of the window.
“Hydro-chloride of strychnine,” he said, over his shoulder, continuing to hum.
“Good heavens!” I said it quite quietly. I was not surprised. I had expected that answer.