‘Old lady, she very ill. Nurse, she very frightened. I try to get doctor.’

Mr Parker Pyne hurried on some clothes. He arrived at the doorway of Lady Grayle’s cabin at the same time as Basil West. Sir George and Pamela were inside. Elsie MacNaughton was working desperately over her patient. As Mr Parker Pyne arrived, a final convulsion seized the poor lady. Her arched body writhed and stiffened. Then she fell back on her pillows.

Mr Parker Pyne drew Pamela gently outside.

‘How awful!’ the girl was half-sobbing. ‘How awful! Is she, is she—?’

‘Dead? Yes, I am afraid it is all over.’

He put her into Basil’s keeping. Sir George came out of the cabin, looking dazed.

‘I never thought she was really ill,’ he was muttering. ‘Never thought it for a moment.’

Mr Parker Pyne pushed past him and entered the cabin.

Elsie MacNaughton’s face was white and drawn. ‘They have sent for a doctor?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Then he said: ‘Strychnine?’

‘Yes. Those convulsions are unmistakable. Oh, I can’t believe it!’ She sank into a chair, weeping. He patted her shoulder.

Then an idea seemed to strike him. He left the cabin hurriedly and went to the lounge. There was a little scrap of paper left unburnt in an ash-tray. Just a few words were distinguishable:

‘Now, that’s interesting,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.

Mr Parker Pyne sat in the room of a prominent Cairo official. ‘So that’s the evidence,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Yes, pretty complete. Man must have been a damned fool.’

‘I shouldn’t call Sir George a brainy man.’

‘All the same!’ The other recapitulated: ‘Lady Grayle wants a cup of Bovril. The nurse makes it for her. Then she must have sherry in it. Sir George produces the sherry. Two hours later, Lady Grayle dies with unmistakable signs of strychnine poisoning. A packet of strychnine is found in Sir George’s cabin and another packet actually in the pocket of his dinner jacket.’

‘Very thorough,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘Where did the strychnine come from, by the way?’

‘There’s a little doubt over that. The nurse had some—in case Lady Grayle’s heart troubled her—but she’s contradicted herself once or twice. First she said her supply was intact, and now she says it isn’t.’

‘Very unlike her not to be sure,’ was Mr Parker Pyne’s comment. ‘They were in it together, in my opinion. They’ve got a weakness for each other, those two.’

‘Possibly; but if Miss MacNaughton had been planning murder, she’d have done it a good deal better. She’s an efficient young woman.’

‘Well, there it is. In my opinion, Sir George is in for it. He hasn’t a dog’s chance.’

‘Well, well,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘I must see what I can do.’

He sought out the pretty niece.

Pamela was white and indignant. ‘Nunks never did such a thing—never—never—never!’