“Here.” Iris thrust a ten-dollar bill into her hand. “I’ll buy the whole roll. Run get the camera. We’ll have it developed right away.”

“Geeth.” The mercenary Daisy stared with blank incredulity at the ten-dollar bill.

I stared just as blankly myself. I wasn’t being bright at all.

I wasn’t much brighter an hour later. We were back in our apartment, waiting for Inspector Green. Poppy, all for love, was trying to climb into my lap. Iris, who had charmed Barney Stone into developing Daisy’s films, clutched the yellow envelope of snaps in her hand. She had sent our policeman away on a secret mission, but an infuriating passion for the dramatic had kept her from telling or showing me anything. I had to wait for Inspector Green.

Eventually Iris’s policeman returned and whispered with her in the hall. Then Inspector Green came. He looked cold and hostile. Poppy didn’t like him. She growled. Sometimes Poppy was smart.

Inspector Green said: “You’ve been running all over town. I told you to stay here.”

“I know.” Iris’s voice was meek. “It’s just that I wanted to solve poor Miss Crump’s poisoning.”

“Solve it?” Inspector Green’s query was skeptical.

“Yes. It’s awfully simple really. I can’t imagine why we didn’t think of it from the start.”

“You mean you know who poisoned her?”

“Of course.” Iris smiled, a maddening smile. “Henry Blodgett.”

“But . . .”

“Check with the airlines. I think you’ll find that Blodgett flew in from Ogden Bluffs a few days ago and flew back today. As for his being sick in bed under his wife’s care, I guess that’ll make Mrs. Blodgett an accessory before the fact, won’t it?”

Inspector Green was pop-eyed.

“Oh, it’s my fault really,” continued Iris. “I said no one came to the house yesterday except those three people. There was someone else, but he was so ordinary, so run-of-the-mill, that I forgot him completely.”

I was beginning to see then. Inspector Green snapped: “And this run-of-the-mill character?”

“The man,” said Iris sweetly, “who had the best chance of all to poison the hamburger, the man who delivered it—the man from the Supermarket.”

“We don’t have to guess. We have proof.” Iris fumbled in the yellow envelope. “Yesterday morning as we were going out, we bumped into the man delivering Miss Crump’s groceries. Just at that moment, a sweet little girl took a snap of us. This snap.”

She selected a print and handed it to Inspector Green. I moved to look at it over his shoulder.

“I’m afraid Daisy is an impressionistic photographer,” murmured Iris. “That hip on the right is me. The buttocks are my husband. But the figure in the middle—quite a masterly likeness of Henry Blodgett, isn’t it? Of course, there’s the grocery apron, the unshaven chin . . .”