"It sounded rather worse than silly," was Ian's comment.
"Did—did they cut him up, to see if he'd taken morphia, or an overdose of laudanum or veronal or something? I had a friend who died of taking quantities of veronal while you were abroad so long—a South American, she was."
He nodded. "It was all quite in order. There were no signs of poison, they said, but the heart had had a shock of some kind. There had been what they called lesion, and all that kind of thing, and not sufficient strength for recovery."
"I suppose Mr. Mappin wasn't present?" she asked, curiously. "I know it is silly in a way, but don't you remember how interested Mr. Fellowes was in that needle? Was Mr. Mappin there?"
"There was no reason why he should be there."
"What witnesses were called?"
"Myself and the porter of Fellowes' apartments, his banker, his doctor—"
"And Al'mah?" she asked, obliquely.
He did not reply at once, but regarded her inquiringly.
"You needn't be afraid to speak about Al'mah," she continued. "I saw something queer at Glencader. Then I asked Tynie, and he told me that—well, all about her and Adrian Fellowes. Was Al'mah there? Did she give evidence?"