“My smeller? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you notice that his clothes had a sort of queer smell?”
“No-o,” came with a slow shake of her head.
“And you didn’t smell anything on him that made you think of—of something else?”
The same answer was given.
“What do you know about Dr. Madden,” the question was then put to us, “that you should speak of him so queerly?”
But Poppy wasn’t ready to answer that yet.
“And you’re positive,” he hung on, “that the doctor’s clothes didn’t have a queer smell?—a sort of drug-store smell?”
“I didn’t put my nose on him,” came stiffly, “but I smelt nothing when I stood beside him.”
Poppy dropped that point.