“Of attempting to murder this lady, for a start,” said Parker.
“The old fool!” she said, contemptuously, “she forced her way in here and attacked me. Is that all?”
“Very probably not,” said Parker. “I warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence at your trial.”
Indeed, the third officer had already produced a notebook and was imperturbably writing down: “When told the charge, the prisoner said ‘Is that all?’” The remark evidently struck him as an injudicious one, for he licked his pencil with an air of satisfaction.
“Is the lady all right—who is it?” asked Parker, coming back to a survey of the situation.
“It’s Miss Climpson—God knows how she got here. I think she’s all right, but she’s had a rough time.”
He was anxiously sponging her head as he spoke, and at that moment her eyes opened.
“Help!” said Miss Climpson, confusedly. “The syringe—you shan’t—oh!” She struggled feebly, and then recognised Wimsey’s anxious face. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “Lord Peter. Such an upset. Did you get my letter? Is it all right? . . . Oh, dear! What a state I’m in. I—that woman—”
“Now, don’t worry, Miss Climpson,” said Wimsey, much relieved, “everything’s quite all right and you mustn’t talk. You must tell us about it later.”
“What was that about a syringe?” said Parker, intent on his case.