"You said that Sir Henry Merrivale was here asking you some questions?" "Yes, he was." "Questions about what?" He roused a new grievance.
"About what food Mrs. Fane had eaten today, that's what." "Oh?"
"Yes, it is. When Daisy here can tell you that not a mouthful of food has passed her lips today, not a mouthful, except the grapefruit that Captain Sharpless took up to her at four o'clock in the afternoon. That's all she'll ever touch when she feels poorly (as you very well know, Miss Ann), 'and a thousand times I've told her that it's no food to keep body and soul together." "Yes, of course, Mrs. Propper, but—" "And anyway, when the poor lady's dying, in convulsions they say, then what I say is, what difference does it make what she did or didn't eat? That's what I say."
Twelve
The clock ticked loudly.
"I wonder," Courtney said aloud.
Guesses, all without shape or reason, drifted in his mind. The atmosphere of the kitchen was warm and damp, with a prevalent ghost of lamb stew.
"You'll excuse us, I know," he told Mrs. Propper, shutting away his thoughts. "Miss Browning wants to get home."
"And so she should, if she'll take my advice," declared the cook, flinging open the back door. "It's little enough sleep any of the rest of us will be getting in this house tonight. Good night to you, Miss Ann. Good night to you, sir."
"Good night, Mrs. Propper."