Lamb leaned back in his chair, his face as expressionless as her own.

“What made you do a thing like that?”

The answer came grim and short.

“To punish her.”

“Why did you want to punish her?”

“For what she was doing to everyone she come in contact with.”

“As what?”

“It ’ud take a long time to tell the half of it.”

“Never mind about that. You tell us why you thought she ought to be punished.”

She drew her black brows together briefly.

“Very well, then-I’ll put it as short as I can. There was what she did to Mrs. Marsh.”

“Do you mean the young woman, Gladys Marsh, who was acting as Mrs. Latter’s maid?”

“No, I don’t. I mean her husband’s mother, Lizzie Marsh, that’s a cousin of my own and that that there Gladys got sent away to the workhouse. Institute they may call it now, but workhouse is what it is. And Mrs. Latter backed her up. She wouldn’t have darsn’t do it, nor Joe Marsh wouldn’t have let her, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Latter backing her up and telling Mr. Jimmy all manner of lies.”

“And you put ipecacuanha in her coffee because of that?”

“Not for that by itself. It was for that and other things. There was Miss Ellie-Mrs. Street-that she worked to death like I wouldn’t have stood for any housemaid being worked, and when she’d taken all the strength out of her she was turning her out-wouldn’t let her have her husband, Mr. Ronnie, here to look after. And the same with Miss Minnie that’s been here ever since the old doctor died. Worked her pretty well to death, and then out she could go, and it wasn’t Mrs. Latter that ’ud care whether she lived or died. And more lies to Mr. Jimmy, making him think Miss Minnie wanted to go. That’s why I done it. Maybe I didn’t ought to, but that’s why I done it. And it wasn’t done for no more than to punish her-a drop of ipecac like you’d give a child that had swallowed something. And no harm done. That’s what I come to say.” She took her hands off the table and turned to go.

Lamb stopped her.

“We can’t leave it quite like that, you know. I think you’d better sit down.”

She came back to her former position.

“I can stand well enough.”

“Well, that’s just as you like. I want to ask you some questions. You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you when I hear them.”

“Well, we’ll start with an easy one. How long have you been here?”

There was pride in her voice as she said,

“It’ll be fifty-three years at Christmas.”

“You didn’t leave to be married?”

She stood up very straight.

“I’m single. The ‘Mrs.’ is what is only right and proper when you’ve turned fifty in a position like what mine is.”

“I see. Very fond of the family, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t anyone be after fifty years?”

“Very fond of Mr. Jimmy, as you call him?”

She said, “I saw him christened.” And then, “Anyone ’ud be fond of Mr. Jimmy-he’s one that’s got kindness for all. There isn’t anyone for miles round that don’t love Mr. Jimmy.”

Lamb shifted his position, leaning forward with an arm along the table.

“Well now, suppose you tell us about the times you put this ipecac into Mrs. Latter’s coffee. When did you start?”

He noticed that she did not have to stop and think. Her answer came pat.

“It was the evening Miss Julia come down, and Mr. Antony. They hadn’t neither of them been here for two years, and I thought, ‘Well, they shall have their evening the same as it was before Mrs. Latter come.’ She’d been up to her tricks with Miss Ellie that evening, wanting her to do the flowers all over again when anyone could see she was ready to drop- and she’d done them lovely. And I thought to myself, ‘No, you don’t, my lady!’ for I knew how it ’ud be, Miss Ellie and Miss Julia, they wouldn’t get a moment’s peace, neither with Mr. Jimmy nor Mr. Antony. I tell you she couldn’t abear to see anyone noticed if it wasn’t herself, so I took and put some ipecac in her coffee, she being the only one that took that nasty Turkish stuff-and it made her sick and kept her quiet like I thought it would.”

Frank Abbott turned a page and went on writing. Lamb said,

“Well, that was the first time. When did you do it again?”

“Next day at lunch. There was fruit salad in separate glasses, with cream on the top. Mrs. Latter never took cream, so there was one glass without. I put the ipecac in that.”

“And after that?”

“There was once when Mr. Jimmy was away seeing after Miss Eliza Raven’s affairs down in Devonshire, and there was once more after he come back-I think it was Tuesday last week. And then on the Saturday Mr. Jimmy come down from London, and he says to send in two cups of Turkish coffee because every time Mrs. Latter has it he’s going to have it too. So then I stopped.”

“You didn’t put any more ipecac into the coffee?”

Her eyes met his.

“Do you think I’d have risked making Mr. Jimmy sick?”

“Well, I don’t suppose you would. So you didn’t use any more ipecac. How did you get hold of the morphia?”

Her gaze never wavered. It was perfectly steady and perfectly blank.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The stuff that was in Mrs. Latter’s coffee on Wednesday night-the stuff that killed her-it was morphia. How did you get hold of that?”

“I don’t know nothing about it.”

“Mrs. Maniple-did you put anything into the coffee on Wednesday night? You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”

There was a touch of scorn as she said,

“Why shouldn’t I want to? I didn’t put nothing in, and Miss Julia can tell you so. She stood there watching me all the time-she can say what I did. And if I’d wanted to murder Mrs. Latter a hundred times over, do you think I’d have put poison in one of those cups and let Miss Julia go through with the tray and put it down for them to help themselves- Mrs. Latter, and Mr. Jimmy that I couldn’t love more if he was my own child-and not know which of them ’ud take the poison? Do you think I’d have done that? If I’d got the length of making up my mind to poison her, do you think I’d have risked Mr. Jimmy’s life, with no saying who would take which cup? It’s not sense, and you know it!”

He said, “Maybe.” And then, “I’d like to take you through Wednesday, Mrs. Maniple. Mrs. Latter kept to her room in the morning, didn’t she? That means her breakfast went up to her. Who took it up, and what did she have?”

Mrs. Maniple leaned a little forward on her hands.

“Gladys Marsh come down for the tray and took it up. She had what she always had for breakfast, a pot of tea, a slice of dry toast, and fruit-it was an apple on Wednesday.”

“Not much of a breakfast. Well then, what happened after that? Did she come down for lunch?”

“Yes, she come down. I didn’t know what she was going to do, so I sent Polly up to ask, and she said Mrs. Latter would come down.”

“So she had the same for lunch that everyone else did. What did they have?”

“Mince and two vegetables, with a trifle to follow.”

“What about tea?”

“Mrs. Latter took her car out after lunch. She didn’t come in till getting on for seven o’clock-she wasn’t here for tea.”

“And dinner-what did you give them for dinner?”

“There was fish-baked haddock-and a sweet omelette. And hardly a bit of anything ate.”

“They were all too much upset?”

“Seems like it.”

“And then you made the coffee and Miss Vane took it in?”

“Miss Julia watched me make it.”

“Well now-one thing more. Where did you get the ipecac you put in Mrs. Latter’s coffee? Did you get it out of the medicine-cupboard in Miss Mercer’s room?”

“Not then, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a bottle she give me when I had a cough in the spring. I’d put a drop or two with some honey and vinegar and sup it. And she said to keep the bottle-it wasn’t above half full.”

“You knew she had a medicine-cupboard in her room?”