It was very warm in the kitchen. H.M. peered round and exchanged a glance with Masters.
"Go on from there, ma'am. You cut the grapefruit—" "Yes. And put it in the glass dish." She made illustrative gestures. "And put it on a nice tray, with a spoon and a little sugar-bowl. And sprinkled some sugar on it."
"So," murmured H.M. "You sprinkled some sugar on it. I just want you to remember, ma'am. Strychnine is a white powder that looks for all the world like sugar. It could have been mixed in with the sugar, couldn't it?"
"Nasty stuff!" said Mrs. Propper, suddenly and violently. "Nasty stuff! No, sir, I swear it couldn't!" "Couldn't have been in the sugar? Why not?" She swallowed.
"Because, as soon as I'd sprinkled a little sugar on, I sprinkled a lot of — I mean, I sprinkled some sugar from that same bowl on me own grapefruit. And ate it. And I'm as right as rain."
H.M. turned round and exchanged with Masters a glance which seemed to say, "sunk." Even H.M. was growing rattled. He put up a hand and adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat, and eyed her again.
"You're sure, now, that nobody — not even Daisy — came near the grapefruit while you were doin' that?"
"Oh, sir, would I lie to you?"
"Don't carry on, now! What happened then?"
Mr s. Propper was transfixed by memory as though by an arrow.