“Your sister was poisoned through the medium of a tube of toothpaste,” answered Hannasyde, who had drawn a little way back from the group, and had been silently watching and listening.
Mrs Lupton repeated: “A tube of toothpaste? I never heard of such a thing!”
“What a valuable contribution to our symposium!” remarked Randall.
“Who did it?” demanded Mrs Lupton sternly. “That is what I wish to know! That is what has got to be found out! Good heavens, do you realise that not one but two murders have been committed, and not one thing has been done about it?”
“My dear aunt, "them," not "it," ” corrected Randall in a pained voice.
“I am forced to look the facts in the face,” continued Mrs Lupton, disregarding this interruption, “and disagreeable though it may be, I am not one to shirk the truth. My brother and my sister have been murdered in cold blood, and I know of only one person who could have done it, or who had a motive for doing it!”
Mrs Matthews rose to her feet. “If you mean me, Gertrude, pray do not hesitate to say so!” she begged. “I am becoming quite accustomed to having the most heartless and wicked accusations made against me! But I should very much like to know how I am supposed to have got hold of any nicotine!”
“We all know how morbidly interested you are in anything to do with illness or medicine,” returned Mrs Lupton. “No doubt you could have found out, had you wanted to, where to obtain nicotine.”
Stella sat up suddenly. “You don't buy nicotine,” she said. “You extract it from tobacco. Deryk Fielding told me so. Mother wouldn't have known how to do that.”
“If it comes to that,” said Guy, “who would know, except Fielding himself?” He looked quickly up, and across the room at his cousin, his eyes narrow all at once. “Or—you, Randall!”
Randall was unperturbed by this attack. He merely tipped the ash off the end of his cigarette, and said: “Somehow I thought it wouldn't be long before I was identified with the mysterious killer of Stella's little bedtime story.”
Mrs Lupton fixed him with a cold, appraising stare. “Yes,” she said slowly, “that is perfectly true, though what reason you could have had for poisoning your Aunt Harriet I fail to see. But perhaps the Superintendent is not aware that you were training to be a doctor when your father died?”
“Yes, Mrs Lupton, I am aware of that,” Hannasyde replied.
“I do not say that it has necessarily any bearing on this case,” said Mrs Lupton fairly. “But the fact remains that you have a certain medical knowledge. You had also the strongest motive of anyone for murdering your uncle Gregory.”
Stella said, grasping the arms of her chair: “No! No, he hasn't. He doesn't want uncle's money. He told me himself he was going to get rid of it.”
An astonished silence greeted her words. Hannasyde, closely watching Randall, saw a flicker of annoyance in his face, and caught the gleam of warning in the look he flashed at Stella.
Guy broke the silence. “You—don't—want—uncle's—money?” he repeated. “What rot! I never heard such a tale!”
He burst out laughing, but Hannasyde's voice cut through his laughter. “That is very interesting, Mr Matthews. May I know why you don't want your inheritance?”
“It's as plain as a pikestaff!” said Guy scornfully. “He said it so that no one should suspect him of having poisoned uncle.”
“Thank you,” said Hannasyde. “But I spoke to your cousin, Mr Matthews, not to you.”
Randall was frowningly regarding the tip of his cigarette. He raised his eyes when Hannasyde spoke, and answered pensively: “Well, do you know, I like to shock my family now and then, my dear Superintendent.”
“You did not by any chance mean what you said to Miss Stella Matthews?”
Randall's lip curled sardonically. “Is it possible that anyone could wish to be rid of a large fortune?” he said mockingly. “The answer is to be read in my relatives' expressive countenances. They are more profoundly shocked than if it had been proved to them that I murdered my uncle and my aunt.” He moved towards the table and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that stood on it. “However, what I mean to do with my inheritance is not in the least relevant to the matter on hand. You mustn't think that I don't know how much you would like my deplorable relatives to continue their artless and revealing discussions, but—I think not, Superintendent: I think not! Let us stick to my aunt's death, shall we? You do not really believe that I had any hand in that—ah, setting aside my cousin Stella's engaging theory, of course. You suspect, and so does my dear Aunt Gertrude, that my clever Aunt Zoë is the guilty party. I don't blame you in the least. I will even go so far as to say that I don't blame my dear Aunt Gertrude either. With her own fair hands my clever aunt built up the case against herself, and I must say it does her credit. It worries you, doesn't it, Superintendent? My Aunt Harriet's death has upset a cherished theory of your own; in fact, it is quite out of order.”
He paused, but Hannasyde only said: “Go on, Mr Matthews.”
“It worried me too,” Randall said. “But I have slightly the advantage of you. I know more about the eccentricities of my family. I admit, I was quite at sea until I heard how the poison had been administered. But an idea has occurred to me.” He looked round the room. “Do any of you know what became of Uncle Gregory's tube of toothpaste?” he inquired.
No one answered for a moment; blank faces stared at him. Then Stella's chair rasped on the polished floor as she suddenly sprang up.
“Randall!” she gasped. “You're perfectly right! Aunt Harriet took it!”
“I thought as much,” said Randall.
Mrs Matthews said in a stupefied way: “Harriet took Gregory's toothpaste? To use? Well, really! How very distasteful!”
“Are you sure of this, Miss Matthews?” Hannasyde asked.
“Yes. Oh, perfectly sure! I'd forgotten all about it until my cousin asked that question. Then I remembered at once. It was the very day we found uncle's body. My aunt had his room turned out, and I met her on the landing, carrying all sorts of oddments she'd collected. I can't remember what they were—I know she had uncle's faceflannel, which she said would do for a cleaning rag, and I distinctly remember her showing me a tube of toothpaste. It was half-used, and she said she saw no reason to waste it, and was going to use it herself when she'd finished her own.”
Sergeant Hemingway, who had been till now a silent but an intensely interested auditor, said: “That accounts for the empty tube we found, Superintendent. She'd only just come to the end of it. It puzzled me a bit, that empty one being left on the wash-stand when it looked as though she'd been using the other for several days.”
Hannasyde nodded. Guy blurted out: “Then—then Aunt Harriet's death was a pure accident?”
Mrs Lupton drew a deep breath. “If this story is true, I can only say that it is a judgment on Harriet!” she announced. “I warned her that her exaggerated economies would come to no good. She would not listen to me, and here is the result! It puts me out of all patience. I am utterly disgusted!”
“Gertrude dear, remember that you are speaking of the dead,” said Mrs Matthews reproachfully.
Hannasyde was still looking at Stella. “Miss Matthews, can you remember what time it was when you met your aunt on the landing?”
Stella thought for a minute. “Well, I don't think I can, quite. I know it was before lunch. Somewhere about twelve—but I wouldn't swear to it. It might have been later.”
“Not earlier?”
“No, I'm sure it wasn't earlier.”
“Until your aunt went to turn it out, was your uncle's bathroom locked?”
She shook her head. “Oh no! His bedroom wasn't either.”
“Could anyone have gone into the bathroom without being seen, do you think?”