“You know he took away the bottle of poison—well, the analyst has found it to be nothing but water!”
“Water! But Stella——”
“Yes, it was poison then, but the trouble is—where is the poison now? Was it thrown away? And if not—well!”
I could only stare at her stupefied, and the doctor’s words to Ethel about there being no risk in getting rid of cook seemed more sinister than ever. “Allport had no right to take such a responsibility,” I said at last.
“It isn’t quite so bad as you might think at first. The poison has a bitter taste and a strong smell. Miss Palfreeman, of course, took it unsuspectingly and would naturally think nothing of it if her medicine had an unfortunate taste. Besides, there is no real reason, so far as we know, why the person who gave it to her should harbor murderous designs against any one else.”
“I don’t understand it at all, it’s a complete mystery. I never could see why any one should have murdered her. Apart from the doctor, perhaps,” I added, remembering my own growing suspicions and his quarrel with her father.
“Well, I don’t think I am justified in telling you any more. I was to tell just as little as possible, but I am very glad to have some one at hand to help me at a moment’s notice if an emergency should arise.”
I sat for a time in thought. To say that I was surprised at the revelation would be to put it too mildly. I had been pleased to imagine this gray slip of a girl at my side as clean and free—a breath of sweet outside air refreshing the exhausted atmosphere of some hot unventilated room—a ray of sunlight piercing the shades of deceit and hypocrisy that seemed to have engulfed us, and here she was, with one unknown exception, more involved in the wretched affair than any of us. Never had I seen any one less like imagination’s picture of a woman detective, neither hard eyed, brazen and tight lipped, nor of the vampire siren type familiar to frequenters of the cinema.
“Well, I think that you must be very brave, and I’ll do my best to help you if I can. But tell me, is this sort of thing your regular work?”
“No, I’ve done a good deal of it from time to time, but I’m not officially attached to Scotland Yard. Mr. Allport lived next door to us when we were children and we grew up together. I can see that he’s not exactly popular with any of you here, but in many ways he’s very fine. I’ve seen a side of him that you have not. When my husband was killed, just before the Armistice, he was the best friend imaginable and has helped me ever since. When I was demobbed, I went on the stage for a time—I wasn’t much good—had a pretty hard time. Mr. Allport used to find me odd jobs in connection with his detective work; not very often at first, but lately I’ve helped him quite a lot.”