“The fell hand of Randall,” said Giles, with an amused look.
Hannasyde smiled reluctantly. “I know you think I've got him on the brain. I ought to tell you that I can't find that he came anywhere near this place between May 12th and May 15th.” He added ruefully: “You're quite right: I am suspicious of him, and I'm suspicious of his alibis. They're so good that they might have been created on purpose. But I tell you frankly, Mr Carrington, I don't see how he can possibly have committed this murder.”
“You sound regretful,” said Giles, laughing.
“No, not that. Just plain worried. Groping about in a fog, and all the time I've got an uneasy feeling I'm on the wrong track. If I could only discover the medium through which the poison was administered! It may have been the whiskey-and-soda Guy Matthews poured out for his uncle; Matthews may have bathed his scratched hand with poisoned lotion—but all the lotion I found in this house was a brand-new bottle of Pond's Extract with the paper sealing the cork down still intact. It may have been the tonic—and the bottle was smashed. I've racked my brains to think of something else—something that might have been doctored at any time, perhaps days before Matthews' death. Well, I thought of aspirin tablets, but he didn't use drugs. Hemingway put all the servants through a hair-sieve, so to speak, but he couldn't discover that Matthews had eaten or drunk anything the rest of the family hadn't, barring that whiskey, and the tonic.” He broke off, and rose. “Well, it's no use sitting and talking to you about it, Mr Carrington. I've got to get on with the job, and I've no doubt you're itching to get back to town.”
“I don't know about itching, exactly, but I certainly ought to go,” said Giles, glancing at his watch. “I'm glad I don't leave Lupton in the role of Chief Suspect,” he added with a twinkle. “I'm sorry for the poor wretch.”
“Oh, he's a suspect all right,” Hannasyde answered. “I shall have to check up closely on him. But it's too clever, Mr Carrington. If Lupton did it, it must have been on the spur of the moment, and because he was desperate. Well, I may be wrong, but it doesn't look like that to me. It's been carefully planned, this murder, down to the very poison that was used. The ordinary man doesn't hit on a thing like nicotine on the spur of the moment.”
“I see. You think research is indicated.”
“I do. Research, and a cool, clever brain,” said Hannasyde, putting his pocket-book away, and moving across the thick carpet to the door. He opened it, and nearly collided with Miss Matthews. “I beg your pardon!”
She was holding a bowl of flowers between her hands, and said in her hurried way: “Oh, what a start you gave me, Superintendent! Just going to replenish my flowers. I always do it in the cloakroom, because it makes such a mess.”
She ended on one of her breathless, inane laughs, and sped on through the baize-door at the end of the passage. The two men's eyes met. “She was listening,” said Giles softly.