“It was the milk?” she seemed to stammer.
“Yes, the second attempt; it was the milk,” admitted Carpentaria.
She hid her face.
“The same attempt has been made against Josephus,” she said. “And he was so frightened it has made him ill. That is why he is not feeling very well this morning.”
“But does Mr. Ilam take milk for breakfast? I thought he always had ham and eggs?”
“Never!” said Mrs. Ilam. “Hot bread-and-milk. Nothing else.”
“And how did he find out that the milk was poisoned?” Carpentaria pursued.
“I—I don’t know,” said Mrs. Ilam. “But he did. He’s very particular about his food, is Jos. And he suspected something. So he tried it on Neptune, the Newfoundland. And Neptune is dead. He says he thinks it must be prussic acid. Oh, Mr. Carpentaria, what is this plot against us all? What are we to do?”
Carpentaria was reduced to muteness. The old lady had changed the trend of his thoughts. He had been secretly accusing Ilam, but if Ilam’s life also had been attempted, the case was very much altered. It was perhaps even more perilous. Still, Mrs. Ilam had done nothing to explain the extraordinary events of the night. He decided to be cautious.
“I happened to see lights in your house very late last night, or rather, early this morning,” he said. “I was afraid that either you or Mr. Ilam might be ill.”