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of the coco sample which Poirot had taken to be analysed.

John interrupted just as I had done.

"But, look here, Bauerstein had had it analysed already?"

"Yes, yes, that's the point. I didn't see it either until now. Don't you

understand? Bauerstein had it analysed--that's just it! If Bauerstein's the

murderer, nothing could be simpler than for him to substitute some

ordinary coco for his sample, and send that to be tested. And of course they

would find no strychnine! But no one would dream of suspecting

Bauerstein, or think of taking another sample--except Poirot," I added, with

belated recognition.

"Yes, but what about the bitter taste that coco won't disguise?"

Well, we've only his word for that. And there are other possibilities. He's

admittedly one of the world's greatest toxicologists----"

One of the world's greatest what? Say it again."

"He knows more about poisons than almost anybody," I explained. "Well, my

idea is, that perhaps he's found some way of making strychnine tasteless.

Or it may not have been strychnine at all, but some obscure drug no one

has ever heard of, which produces much the same symptoms."

H'm, yes, that might be," said John. "But look here, how could he have got

at the coco? That wasn't downstairs?"

"No, it wasn't," I admitted reluctantly.

And then, suddenly, a dreadful possibility flashed through my mind. I hoped

and prayed it would not occur to John also. I glanced sideways at him. He

was frowning perplexedly, and I drew a deep breath of relief, for the terrible

thought that had flashed across my mind was this: that Dr. Bauerstein

might have had an accomplice.

Yet surely it could not be! Surely no woman as beautiful as Mary Cavendish

could be a murderess. Yet beautiful women had been known to poison.

And suddenly I remembered that first conversation at tea on the day of my

arrival, and the gleam in her eyes as she had said that poison was a

135

The Mysterious Affair at Styles