"So," said H.M., peering round over his shoulder out of the dripping oilskin. "You touched it to your tongue, did you?"
"Yes."
"Uh-huh. Did it make the tip of your tongue feel numb afterwards?" "No."
"Sure of that, son?" "Yes, quite sure."
"Then," said H.M., turning back again, "it wasn't strychnine."
There was a silence, except for the sluicing rain. Masters and Agnew stood motionless, a stuffed expression on their faces.
Courtney stared at them wildly.
"Would someone," requested a courteous voice from the floor, "would someone be good enough to assist me to my feet? I am quite well, but my — er — motor reflexes appear not to motor in the accepted sense of the term. It is most annoying."
"Agnew!"
"Sir?"