“He looked just that sinewy, tough sort of man who was likely to live for ever.”
I was silent.
“There must have been something organically wrong,” Mr. Gascoyne continued.
I was still silent, meditating whether I should tell him what the doctor had hinted at as regards poison. I decided that it would be better to do so. It would look very strange if he should discover that the doctor had already suggested such a thing to me, and that I had ignored the fact.
“Dr. Phillimore thinks that death must have been caused by some violent poison.”
“Poison? Impossible!”
“So I said. I don’t suppose he meant for one moment that anybody had poisoned him.”
I regretted this remark. It might rouse suspicions in his brain. The nervous analysis of everything I said was becoming automatic.
“He was taken ill directly after dinner, you say?”
“When we left the dining-room.”