"I think he's got it, Ken," she said. "But where does that lead us? Towards Mrs. An — "
Stone waved his hand.
"I don't know. That's your business," he replied off-handedly. "I told you this was no business of mine and I don't want to put ideas into your head.."
"Which you're doing."
"Which I'm doing, Blake, my lad," he agreed, with a curious trace of amusement in the bland blue eyes behind the pince-nez. Again he seemed to be playing poker. "So I'll give you another one on the house. The bottles might have been switched: might. It's possible. But, even so, the murderer took a longer chance than I'd want to take about something else-if you get me? How could the murderer be sure Hogenauer was going to drink strychnine in that one particular mineral-water which would hide the taste? Most people-damn near everybody, I'd say — mix a bromide in ordinary plain water. If Hogenauer had done that, he'd have known something was wrong at the first sip."
"Probably," I said, because Hogenauer drank nothing else. I told you about that lorry-load of bottles all over the back garden. Bowers said he was a teetotaller, and also he very likely didn't even drink the ordinary water out of the tap."
Stone sat forward. "That's exactly what I'm driving at. But who knew that? Who could know that he drank only mineral-water?"
"His doctor, I suppose," said Evelyn, after a pause.
"Oh, yes: his doctor: I admit that. But more likely somebody who either lived in his house-or was a constant visitor to his house. Get me?"
"You mean Bowers or Keppel."