‘Look here,’ she said, ‘it’s this way. I’ve got an idea that someone is trying to kill me.’

This was not the first time that Miss Silver had listened to these or similar words. She sustained no shock of disbelief, but said calmly and firmly,

‘What grounds have you for thinking so, Mrs Smith?’

The black gloved hands were plucking at the handkerchief.

‘There was some soup – it tasted – odd. I didn’t take it. There was a fly on a drop that was spilled. Afterwards it was lying there dead.’

‘What happened to the remainder of the soup?’

‘It had been thrown away.’

‘By whom?’

‘By the person who brought it to me. I told her there was something wrong with it, and she flushed it down the sink in the bathroom.’

‘There is a sink in the bathroom?’

‘Yes. I don’t go downstairs so much since I have been lame. It is convenient to be able to do the washing-up on the spot.’

‘And it is done by someone who brought you the soup. Who is this person?’

‘I suppose you might call her a – help. I have been a bit of an invalid – she looks after me. And you needn’t start suspecting her, because she would a good deal rather poison herself than me.’

Miss Silver said briskly,

‘You should have kept the soup and had it analysed.’

‘I didn’t think of it like that. You see, it was mushroom soup – I just thought a wrong one had got in. Not that Mrs-’ She pulled herself up with a jerk. ‘I mean, anyone who was a good cook would know a toadstool from a mushroom, wouldn’t they?’

Miss Silver ignored this.

‘You imply that you did not think much of the incident at the time. Will you tell me what has made you think more seriously of it now?’

Dark eyes looked from behind the dusty veiling. There was a little pause before Mrs Smith said,

‘It was because of the other things that happened. One thing – well, it mightn’t mean much, but when there are a lot of things happening one after another it makes you think, doesn’t it?’