There was not, nor any indication that there had been.
“Evidently she does not have any suspicions of that,” remarked Kennedy in an undertone, half to himself.
I had no chance to question him, for she returned almost immediately. Instead of drinking the water, however, he held it carefully up to the light. It was slightly turbid.
“You drink the water from the tap?” he asked, as he poured some of it into a sterilized vial which he drew quickly from his vest pocket.
“Certainly,” she replied, for the moment nonplussed at his strange actions. “Everybody drinks the town water in Stratfield.”
A few more questions, none of which were of importance, and Kennedy and I excused ourselves.
At the gate, instead of turning toward the town, however, Kennedy went on and entered the grounds of the Minturn house next door. The lawyer, I had understood, was a widower and, though he lived in Stratfield only part of the time, still maintained his house there.
We rang the bell and a middle-aged housekeeper answered.
“I am from the water company,” he began politely. “We are testing the water, perhaps will supply consumers with filters. Can you let me have a sample?”
She did not demur, but invited us in. As she drew the water, Craig watched her hands closely. She seemed to have difficulty in holding the glass, and as she handed it to him, I noticed a peculiar hanging down of the wrist. Kennedy poured the sample into a second vial, and I noticed that it was turbid, too. With no mention of the tragedy to her employer, he excused himself, and we walked slowly back to the road.