“A red, poisonous liquid which smells of lavender. Can you not form any idea as to what it was?”
I was about to enter a protest—for the question was really not admissible—when Madeline, now thoroughly angry and quite self-possessed, replied, stiffly: “I don’t know what you mean. I have told you that I know nothing about this bottle. Are you suggesting that I should try to guess what it contained?”
“No,” he rejoined hastily; “certainly not. A guess wouldn’t help us at all. If you really do not know anything about the bottle, we must leave it at that. You always keep this cupboard locked, I suppose?”
“Usually. But I am not very particular about it. There is nothing of value in the cupboard, as you see, and the servants are quite trustworthy. I sometimes leave the key in the door, but I don’t imagine that anybody ever meddles with it.”
The superintendent took the key out of the lock and regarded it attentively. Then he examined the lock itself, and I also took the opportunity of inspecting it. Both the lock and the key were of the simplest kind, just ordinary builder’s fittings, which, so far as any real security was concerned, could not be taken seriously. In the absence of the key, a stiff wire or a bent hair-pin would probably have shot the little bolt quite easily, as I took occasion to remark to the superintendent, who frankly agreed with me.
The bottle having been carefully wrapped up and deposited in the sergeant’s hand-bag, the examination was resumed; but nothing further of an interesting or suspicious character was discovered among the bottles or jars. Nor did the sorting-out of the miscellaneous contents of the lower shelves yield anything remarkable with a single exception. When the objects on the lowest shelf had been all taken out, a small piece of white paper was seen at the back, and on this Miller pounced with some eagerness. As he brought it out I could see that it was a chemist’s powder paper, about six inches square (when Miller had carefully straightened it out), and the creases which marked the places where it had been folded showed that it had contained a mass of about the bulk of a dessert-spoonful. But what attracted my attention—and the superintendent’s—was the corner of a red label which adhered to a torn edge in company with a larger fragment of a white label on which the name or description of the contents had presumably been written or printed. Miller held it out towards Madeline, who looked at it with a puzzled frown.
“Do you remember what was in this paper, Miss Norris?” the former asked.
“I am afraid I don’t,” she replied.
“H’m,” grunted Miller; “I should have thought you would. It seems to have been a good-sized powder and it had a poison label in addition to the descriptive label. I should have thought that would have recalled it to your memory.”
“So should I,” said Madeline. “But I don’t remember having bought any powder that would be labelled ‘poison.’ It is very odd; and it is odd that the paper should be there. I don’t usually put waste paper into my cupboard.”