"I don't know, sir! It's reporters. Dozens of 'em, and there's one I thought was a reporter; only 'e's crazy, sir, or something. Says he killed Miss Tait, or something like that.
"What?"
"Yes, sir. Says he sent her a box of poisoned chocolates. His name's Emery, sir; Tim Emery."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Circe's Husband
A long and satisfied grunt issued from the chimney corner.
"Aha!" said H. M., flourishing his dead pipe in triumph. "Now we got it. I been expectin' this, Masters. Yes, I rather thought he did. Let him come in, Potter. I say, though, son: you better go out and keep the press at bay until I can get a look at that pavilion.
"You mean, sir," said Masters, "that this man — who is he? I remember hearing his name — killed Miss Tait, and…"
H. M. snorted. "That's just what I don't mean, fathead. Oh, on the contrary, on the contrary, I'm afraid. He's one of two or three I can think of who never wanted to kill her. He sent her poisoned chocolates, yes. But she wasn't intended to eat 'em. He knew she never ate chocolates. Y'know, son, I thought it was rather funny that poisoned chocolates were sent to somebody that the whole gang knew never touched sweets. He never wanted to kill anybody. Only two of the things were loaded, and there wasn't a lethal dose in both together. And even then the poor fathead got a fit of conscience. So he mashed one with his finger when the box was offered him, so's nobody else would eat it, and swallowed the other himself. Ho ho. You'll understand why in a minute, Masters… Get him in here."
They brought Emery in a moment later. If, when Bennett had last seen him two days ago, he had seemed restless and discontented — with his jerking mouth, his sharp-featured narrow face and red-rimmed eyes — he now looked ill with more than the physical illness of having swallowed half a grain of strychnine. The face was waxy, and you could see the ridges of the cheek-bones; so dead a face that the sandy hair, sharply parted, looked like a wig. He wore a big camel's-hair overcoat on which snow had turned to water, and he was twisting his cap round and round in his fingers. They heard his whistling, rather adenoidal breathing.