Mrs. Hubbard spoke rather uncertainly and frowned as she looked at the torn scrap of paper. Why did she feel so strongly that there was something wrong about it-his "There's one clear fingerprint on it which is definitely hers," said the Inspector. "The morphia was in a small bottle with the label of St. Catherine's Hospital on it and you tell me that she works as a dispenser in St. Catherine's.

She'd have access to the poison cupboard and that's where she probably got it. Presumably she brought it home with her yesterday with suicide in nful." "I really can't believe it. It doesn't seem right some how. She was so happy last night." "Then we must suppose that a reaction set in when she went up to bed. Perhaps there's more in her past than you know about. Perhaps she was afraid of that coming out. You think she was very much in love with this young man-what's his name, by the way?" "Colin Mcationabb. He's doing a post graduate course at St. Catherine's." "A doctor? Hm. And at St.

Catherine's?" "Celia was very much in love with him, more I should say, than he with her. He's a rather self-centered young man." "Then that's probably the explanation. She didn't feel worthy of him, or hadn't told him all she ought to tell him. She was quite young, wasn't she?" "Twenty-three." "They're idealistic at that age and they take love affairs hard. Yes, that's it, I'm afraid. Pity." He rose to his feet. "I'm afraid the actual facts will have to come out, but we'll do all we can to gloss things over. Thank you, Mrs. Hubbard.

I've got all the information I need now. Her mother died two years ago and the only relative you know of is this elderly aunt in Yorkshire-we'll communicate with her." He picked up the small torn fragment with Celia's agitated writing oDit .

"There's something wrong about that," said Mrs.

Hubbard suddenly.

"Wrong? In what way?" "I don't know comb I feel I ought to know. Oh dear." "You're quite sure it's her handwriting?" "Oh yes. It's not that." Mrs. Hubbard pressed her hands to her eyeballs.

"I feel so dreadfully stupid this morning," she said apologetically.

"It's all been very trying for you, I know," said the Inspector with gentle sympathy. "I don't think we need to trouble you further at the moment, Mrs.

Hubhard." Inspector Sharpe opened the door and immediately fell over Gerortimo who was pressed against the door outside.

"Hullo," said Inspector Sharpe pleasantly. "Listening at doors, eh?" "No, no," Geronimo answered with an air of virtuous indignation. "I do not listermever, never! I am just coming in with message." "I see. What message?" Geronimo said sulkily, "Only that there is gentleman downstairs to see la Signora Hubbard." "All right. Go along in, sonny, and tell her." He walked past Geronimo down the passage and then, taking a leaf out of the Italian's book, turned sharply, and tiptoed Doiselessly back. Might as well know if little monkey face had been telling the truth.