He smiled. “Such a solemn Stella. I don't like it. But go on with this entrancing story.”
“Well, there isn't much more. Apparently she felt worse after breakfast, and went up to tell Mummy she wasn't well. Mummy put her back to bed, and gave her some dope, and—and she felt sleepy. And Mummy looked into her room about twelve o'clock, only she seemed to be fast asleep, so Mummy didn't disturb her, and at lunch-time I went up to her, and—and she was dead.”
Randall shot the car forward past a lorry, and slackened speed again. “And now tell me all the bits you've left out,” he said.
“I—I haven't, really. Except that I can't help feeling that the police—think Mummy had something to do with it.”
“They do not seem to be alone in that belief,” remarked Randall.
“What do you mean?” said Stella.
“If you are not afraid that your sainted parent had a hand in this, what are you worrying about, my love? Tell me the whole truth!”
“I'm not afraid she did it! I'm not, I tell you! I'm only afraid that it's going to look black against her, and I don't know what to do. She washed up the glass she gave the medicine in, and she gave orders no one was to go into aunt's room. It was what anyone would have done, Randall! but the police—made it sound fishy, and Mummy—I think Mummy saw that it did, because she said that she couldn't remember who'd washed the glass, and it was obvious that she did remember. And she kept on saying she was sure aunt had had a stroke, and—and finding reasons for it. She was worst with Deryk, but—but I don't trust him, and I'm afraid he may have told the police how she fought against having a post-mortem. Supposing they arrest her?”
“Supposing we wait and see whether Aunt Harriet was poisoned or not?” countered Randall.
“Randall, why won't you tell what you know?” said Stella imploringly. “Deryk wouldn't have said that if he hadn't been pretty sure. And if she was poisoned, don't you see that Mummy, or Guy (or me, I suppose), are the only people who had any motive at all?”