‘Suppose,’ said Alleyn, ‘we begin at the beginning, Mr Pomeroy. You’ve come to see us because you’ve information—’

Abel opened his mouth but Alleyn went on: ‘—information or an opinion about the death of Mr Luke Watchman.’

‘Opinion!’ said Abel. ‘That’s the word.’

‘The finding at the inquest was death by cyanide poisoning, with nothing to show exactly how it was taken.’

‘And a proper fidgeting suspicioning verdict it was,’ said Abel warmly. ‘What’s the result? Result is George Nark, so full of silly blusteracious nonsense as an old turkeycock, going round ‘t Coombe with a story as how I killed Mr Watchman along of criminal negligence with prussic acid. George Nark axing me of an evening if I’ve washed out glasses in my tap, because he’d prefer not to die in agony same as Mr Watchman. George Nark talking his ignorant blusteracious twaddle to any one as is stupid enough to listen to him.’

‘Very irritating,’ said Alleyn. ‘Who is Mr Nark?’

‘Old fool of a farmer, sir, with more long words than wits in his yed. I wouldn’t pay no attention, knowing his tongue’s apt to make a laughing-stock of the man, but other people listen and it’s bad for trade. I know,’ said Abel steadily, ‘I know as certain-sure as I know anything in this life, that it was no fault of mine Mr Watchman died of poison in my private tap. Because why? So soon as us had done with that stuff in my old stables, it was corked up proper. For all there wasn’t a drop of wetness on the bottle, I wiped it thorough and burned the rag. I carried it in with my own hands, sir, and put it in the cupboard. Wearing gas mask and gloves, I was, and I chucked the gloves on the fire and washed my hands afterwards. And thurr that bottle stood, sir, for twenty-four hours and if any drop of stuff came out of it, ‘twas by malice and not by accident. I’ve axed my housekeeper and the li’l maid who works for us and neither on ‘em’s been near cupboard. Too mortal scared they wurr. Nor has my boy Will. And what’s more, sir, the glasses Mr Watchman and company drank from that ghastly night, was our best glasses, and I took ‘em special out of cupboard under bar. Now, sir, could this poison, however deadly, get itself out of stoppered bottle, through glass door, and into tumbler under my bar? Could it? I ax you?’

‘It sounds rather like a conjuring trick,’ agreed Alleyn with a smile.

‘So it do.’

‘What about the dart, Mr Pomeroy?’

‘Ah!’ said Abel. ‘Thicky dart! When George Nark don’t be saying I did for the man in his cups, he be swearing his soul away I mused up thicky dart with prussic acid. Mind this, sir, the darts wurrn’t arrived when us brought in poison on Thursday night, and they wurr only unpacked five minutes before the hijus moment itself. Now!’