Drewson went on. “I knew for certain there had been three bottles—two new ones, unopened, and one only half full, but when I went to pack up the supplies—it was Friday morning, of course—I noticed one of the unopened bottles was missing.”

“When was the last time you had actually seen three bottles?” Phyllida asked.

“Well, the two extra ones were on the lower shelf, and the one that was open, the one we were using, was on the top shelf, where everything else was for easy access. But I am certain I saw the other two bottles on Wednesday before the Murder Club meeting. I was seeing to the supplies for that as well, even though it was tea. I knew Mrs. Alastair would want her cocktail, and Mr. Alastair would want to show off his to the rest of his writer friends.”

“Did Mrs. Alastair drink Vieux Carré cocktails as well?” Phyllida asked.

The staff exchanged looks. “She drank whatever was at hand, Mrs. Bright, and that’s the honest truth,” said Mrs. Dilly. “Over the last two months, we began to notice how much she came to like her spirits.”

“She’d sit in that pretty blue chair by the Tiffany lamp and work her crossword puzzles and drink her whisky or port or whatever her fancy was that day,” said Louella. “I’m surprised there ain’t a path in the rug how many times Mr. Drewson or Mr. Alastair walked over to bring her a drink.”

“How did she get on with Mr. Eugene?” asked Phyllida. She didn’t find it necessary to ask what Mr. Alastair Whittlesby thought about his wife’s excessive drinking; she’d been witness to his discomfort last evening. “Did he ever bring her drinks?”

Drewson shrugged. “Mr. Eugene—God rest his soul—didn’t spend much time in the sitting room because he and Mr. Alastair didn’t get along. I don’t think Mrs. Alastair got on with him much, either, but I hardly ever saw them together except during dinner. If there was any conversation, it was polite and brief.”

The sounds of footsteps coming down from the upstairs drew the attention of all of them. It wasn’t difficult to discern that the noises belonged to Mr. Whittlesby and Dr. Bhatt assisting Mrs. Whittlesby—who was protesting weakly—down the stairs.

Drewson and Louella left the kitchen to assist, and moments later, Phyllida looked out the window and saw them carefully helping Lettice Whittlesby into a little MG. Dr. Bhatt’s motor was parked nearby as well, and she hoped to get the opportunity to speak to him before he left.

She also hoped to have the chance to poke around the Whittlesbys’ home now that they were leaving. One never knew what one might find.

She looked up to see Bradford eyeing her speculatively, as if he were reading her mind. She looked away. He could finish his soup. She would investigate.