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aside to let her pass.
"
"
"
Excuse me, mademoiselle, one minute."
Yes?" she turned inquiringly.
Did you ever make up Mrs. Inglethorp's medicines?"
A slight flush rose in her face, as she answered rather constrainedly:
"No."
"Only her powders?"
The flush deepened as Cynthia replied:
"
Oh, yes, I did make up some sleeping powders for her once."
These?"
"
Poirot produced the empty box which had contained powders.
She nodded.
"
"
"
Can you tell me what they were? Sulphonal? Veronal?"
No, they were bromide powders."
Ah! Thank you, mademoiselle; good morning."
As we walked briskly away from the house, I glanced at him more than once.
I had often before noticed that, if anything excited him, his eyes turned
green like a cat's. They were shining like emeralds now.
"My friend," he broke out at last, "I have a little idea, a very strange, and
probably utterly impossible idea. And yet--it fits in."
I shrugged my shoulders. I privately thought that Poirot was rather too
much given to these fantastic ideas. In this case, surely, the truth was only
too plain and apparent.
"So that is the explanation of the blank label on the box," I remarked. "Very
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