The Sergeant nodded. “I thought you were on to something,” he remarked.
“You were wrong,” said Hannasyde calmly. “But this Lupton woman, though unpleasant, is scrupulously honest. In the Matthews household we interviewed a number of people who were all frightened, and who therefore said whatever they thought would be safest. Mrs Lupton isn't afraid of me or of any other policeman, and she was rigidly determined not to make the smallest accusation against anyone. She isn't being spiteful; she's out for justice. Which makes what she did say quite valuable. When a woman like Miss Matthews says that her sister-in-law is equal to anything, I disbelieve her, just as I discount Mrs Matthews' delicate implication that Harriet would have liked to have seen her brother put quietly out of the way. But when an uncompromisingly honest woman like Mrs Lupton tells me that her sister-in-law will go to any lengths to get her own way, I begin to sit up and take notice. The people she suspects are Mrs Matthews, the boy Guy, and the doctor.”
“Sweeping sort of suspicion,” commented the Inspector.
“No, I don't think so,” said Hannasyde. “She ruled out the girl, Stella, and I got the impression that she dislikes that girl cordially. But she said positively that Stella would not have done such a thing, which to my mind gave a good deal of weight to her pronouncement that any one of the other three have it in them to commit murder. I know nothing about female intuition, Hemingway, but if Mrs Lupton suspected foul play it wasn't because she detected anything odd about her brother's body, but because she knew that the situation at the Poplars had been tense enough to end in murder. Which is what I wanted to find out.”
The Sergeant nodded. “Right, Chief.”
Inspector Davis was not so easily satisfied. “Yet, but what I'd like to know is, how did Matthews take that poison? It's worrying me a lot, that is, because so far we haven't discovered a blessed thing he swallowed that the others didn't, barring the tonic he may have had after dinner.”
“Guy Matthews might conceivably have dropped the poison into that whiskey-and-soda from a phial concealed in his hand,” suggested Hannasyde.
The Inspector gave a disparaging sniff:
“Don't you fret, Inspector,” said Hemingway. “The Chief's after something a bit more recondite. Am I right, Super?”
“More or less. Anyway, we'll go back to town now, and look up Randall Matthews.”