“And after breakfast, what did your aunt do?”
“Ah, there I can help you,” intervened Mrs Matthews. “I was just going to have my bath when my sister-in-law came upstairs, and told me that she felt sick and rather giddy. Nothing to alarm one. Indeed, I thought it no more than a slight bilious attack, but I always feel that one can't be too careful, especially when one is getting on in years as my sister-in-law was. So I made her go to bed with a hot-water bottle.”
“Did you give her anything for this sickness, Mrs Matthews?”
“Yes, I gave her a dose of some very excellent medicine which I have made up for indigestion. My own doctor—Dr Herbert Martin of Harley Street—prescribed it for me, and I know from my own experience —”
“I should like to see both the medicine and the glass it was given in,” said Hannasyde.
“Certainly,” said Mrs Matthews, as one humouring a child's whim. “But naturally the glass has been washed, and put away.”
“Are you sure of that?” Hannasyde asked. “Was the glass removed from Miss Matthews' bedroom?”
“Oh, surely!” Mrs Matthews said, wrinkling her brow. “I should never have left it there. It was my own medicine-glass, and I'm afraid I'm very fussy about things like that. I always like to be sure that they are properly washed, and put away.”
“Did you perhaps wash the glass yourself?”
Mrs Matthews put a hand to her brow. “I don't think I remember. I may have, or it may simply have gone down to the pantry.”