The odour was plain enough. A dull, vapid, flat scent, which seemed familiar, but she could not give it a name.
“What strange tea!” she thought; and then the mystery was out, for she caught sight of the fastening of the lid handle. It was as it usually appeared; but the screw was loose, and it turned and rattled in her fingers. The dark, resinous patch which had held it firmly had gone, melted by the heat and steam, and hence the peculiar flavour of the tea.
“How stupid!” she exclaimed; and rising from her seat, she rang the bell.
The housekeeper was longer than usual in answering, and Kate was about to ring again, when the woman appeared, looking nervous and scared.
“Did you ring, ma’am?” she asked; and her voice sounded weak and husky.
“Yes; look at that tea-pot, Mrs Plant; smell the tea.”
“Is—is anything the matter with it, ma’am?” faltered the woman.
“Matter? Yes! How could you be so foolish! I noticed that something had been used to fasten the knob on the lid.”
“Yes—yes, ma’am; it has worn loose. The screw has got old.”
“What did you use to fasten it with—resin?”