“Why . . . why, oh dear . . .” Mrs. Whittlesby looked around, but Phyllida wasn’t certain whether she was looking for the abandoned drink or a new glass of bubbly.

“It’s just there, Lettice—over on the table next to where we were standing. Why, I could have just picked it up and started drinking it, and that would have been it!” Mr. Whittlesby said, his eyes wide and horrified. “You didn’t taste it, did you, Lettice?” he demanded. “Do you feel quite all right, then, darling?”

Constable Greensticks immediately retrieved the drink Mr. Whittlesby had indicated. As he did so, the constable put his short, stub nose and a good portion of his dark mustache inside the glass. “Smells like tobacco, sir,” he said.

“Good Lord,” breathed Mr. Whittlesby, as if his most dire fears had come to pass. “They were both poisoned. I might have been killed!”

“All three of you might have been killed,” said the detective.

Phyllida could no longer ignore Mr. Dobble’s agitations; she was afraid the older man would do himself severe harm if she didn’t respond.

Besides, she had a few questions for the butler—including who had made the two poisoned cocktails.

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

“ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I POISONED THOSE COCKTAILS?” Mr. Dobble did not like the direction of Phyllida’s queries. “Are you mad?”

“Of course not, Mr. Dobble, and certainly not,” she replied, answering both of his questions. “But clearly someone did, and the fact that both of the drinks appear to have nicotine in them is troubling, to say the least.”

Stanley passed by, still doggedly making his way about the courtyard with a tray of coupes and flutes. No one had approached the bar—perhaps out of self-preservation—which left Phyllida and Mr. Dobble free to have a private conversation.

“Indeed.” Mr. Dobble seemed to be following along Phyllida’s train of thought now. “The implication being: someone either poisoned both drinks, being uncertain which was meant for Mr. Whittlesby—or perhaps the poisoner simply assumed both cocktails were for him—or perhaps him and his wife.”

“That’s a slight possibility, but a far more likely one is that one of the ingredients of the cocktail already had the nicotine in it. That would be much easier to accomplish than to add poison to two different glasses without being noticed,” Phyllida said.

“But that would mean anyone could have drunk the poison if they had a cocktail made with the ingredient!” Mr. Dobble was incensed. “Mr. Max! Miss Sayers! Or . . . or even the vicar! Why, that’s despicable. And who would be blamed for it anyway? The person who made the cocktails, of course!”

“Now, now, Mr. Dobble,” Phyllida said soothingly. “I’m certain no one would even consider you a murder suspect. After all, you have no motive for murdering Mr. Whittlesby, do you? You don’t even know the man.”