“Come in, doctor,” said Hannasyde pleasantly. “There are just one or two questions still that I should like to put to you.” He glanced down at his open notebook. “I think you stated that when you saw the body of the deceased you noticed nothing that was not in your opinion compatible with death from syncope?”
“Quite right,” said the doctor. “I doubt whether anyone could have detected poisoning from a superficial examination.”
Hannasyde nodded. “You had been treating Mr Matthews for some little time, I believe?”
“About a year.”
“You were no doubt fairly intimate with the various members of the household knew the ins and outs, in fact?”
The doctor hesitated. “I hardly know how to reply. I have been very intimate with Miss Stella Matthews for some while—we are engaged to be married, in fact—and I have attended her aunt in a professional capacity. I know very little of the other members of the family.”
“You knew that there was a good deal of friction in this house, I take it?”
“Everyone knew that,” responded the doctor dryly.
“Had you that friction in mind when you decided to put the matter into the hands of the police, doctor?”
The doctor raised his eyes, and looked steadily across at Hannasyde. “You are under a misapprehension, Superintendent,” he said. “It was Mrs Lupton, not I, who insisted on an inquiry.”