"You think so?" inquired H.M. "Cor!"
"I tell you, I'm done with flum-diddling and funny business. I'm fair sick of the word 'impossible! I don't ever want to hear it again. What's impossible about this? Poison in a grapefruit. Well?"
H.M. soothed him.
"Steady on, Masters. I'll just bet you you're not really thinkin' about impossibilities at all. You're thinkin' about your great big beautiful case against Mrs. Fane. Now aren't you?"
"That's as may be, sir."
"Aren't you? Because, son, that case is shot to blazes. She wouldn't be likely to give herself strychnine just to prove she died of tetanus. Now would she?"
Masters did not say anything. But he cast longing eyes at a murderous-looking Malay kris on the wall.
H.M. smoked reflectively.
"I was just wonderin'. If we eliminate Mrs. Fane, subject to change of mind without notice, is there anybody else we can eliminate?"
Masters was emphatic about this.