“No, I don’t think it was suicide,” he said. “But of course it’s not my business to think at all. I shall give my evidence, and there, as far as I am concerned, the matter ends.”
Edward looked helplessly at David.
“Evidence?” he repeated.
“At the inquest,” said David Blake.
“I don’t understand,” said Edward again. He put his head in his hands, and seemed to be thinking.
“Are you sure?” he said at last. “I don’t see how—it was an attack—just like his other attacks—and then he died—you always said he might die in one of those attacks.”
There was a sort of trembling eagerness in Edward’s tone. A feeling of nausea swept over David. The scene had become intolerable.
“Mr. Mottisfont died because he drank a cup of tea which contained enough arsenic to kill a man in robust health,” he said sharply.
He looked once at Edward, saw him start, and added, “and I think that you brought him that tea.”
“Yes,” said Edward. “He asked me for it, how could there be arsenic in it?”