“I don’t believe you could,” said Marion aggressively. “How are you going to do it?”
“I shall drink poison.”
“What poison? I don’t believe you know what are poisons. What poison?”
“Er—prussic acid,” said Robert.
“You couldn’t get it. They wouldn’t sell it to you.”
“People do get poisons,” Robert said indignantly. “I’m always reading of people taking poisons.”
“Well, they’ve got to have more sense than you,” said Marion crushingly. “They’re not the sort of people that leave their bags and soppy poems all over the place for other people to find.”
They had reached Robert’s house and were standing just beneath William’s window.
“I know heaps of poisons,” said Robert with dignity. “I’m not going to tell you what I’m going to take. I’m going to——”
At that moment William, who had been (not very successfully) fixing his snapshots and was beginning to “clear up,” threw the contents of his fixing bath out of the window with a careless flourish. They fell upon Robert and Marion. For a minute they were both speechless with surprise and solution of sodium hyposulphate. Then Marion said furiously: