In exactly the same way,
Mrs. Inglethorp had laid down her cup of coffee on reaching her
room the night before, and the treacherous table had played her
the same trick.
"What happened next is mere guess work on my part, but I should
say that Mrs. Inglethorp picked up the broken cup and placed it
on the table by the bed. Feeling in need of a stimulant of some
kind, she heated up her coco, and drank it off then and there.
Now we are faced with a new problem. We know the coco contained
no strychnine. The coffee was never drunk. Yet the strychnine
must have been administered between seven and nine o'clock that
evening. What third medium was there--a medium so suitable for
disguising the taste of strychnine that it is extraordinary no
one has thought of it?" Poirot looked round the room, and then
answered himself impressively. "Her medicine!"
"Do you mean that the murderer introduced the strychnine into her
tonic?" I cried.
"There was no need to introduce it. It was already there--in
the mixture.
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