“Did you or your cousin eat or drink anything to-day, except here in your own house?”
“Nothing. The person whom we visited offered us port wine, but neither of us accepted.”
“No tea?”
“None,” she answered. “We afterwards returned home, arriving about five o’clock, took tea here, and dined at half-past six. An hour later, just as we had finished dinner, the servant handed Beryl a card; and she rose, excusing herself on the plea that her dressmaker had called, and, saying that she would return in a moment, left me alone to finish my dessert. I waited for her return for fully twenty minutes, then went across to the morning-room. The light had been switched off, and, when I turned it on, I saw to my horror that she was lying full length on the floor, apparently dead. We carried her here, and then I at once went in search of you.”
“And is that all you know?” I inquired rather incredulously.
“Everything,” she assured me. “I found Beryl lying helpless and insensible, just as she is now.”
“And that was an hour and a half ago?” I remarked.
“Yes.”
“But who was this caller? Surely you are able to ascertain that? The servant asked the person in.”
“It was a woman, and she asked for my cousin.”