“Well, we all went to the loo, didn’t we?” said Miss Hinchcliffe coarsely. “And I washed my hands in the bathroom because of that sticky cake. And little Sweetie Easterbrook powdered her grubby little face in Blacklock’s bedroom, didn’t she?”

“Hinch! Do you think she—?”

“I don’t know yet. Rather obvious, if she did. I don’t think if you were going to plant some tablets, that you’d want to be seen in the bedroom at all. Oh, yes, there were plenty of opportunities.”

“The men didn’t go upstairs.”

“There are back stairs. After all, if a man leaves the room, you don’t follow him to see if he really is going where you think he is going. It wouldn’t be delicate! Anyway, don’t argue, Murgatroyd. I want to get back to the original attempt on Letty Blacklock. Now, to begin with, get the facts firmly into your head, because it’s all going to depend upon you.”

Miss Murgatroyd looked alarmed.

“Oh, dear, Hinch, you know what a muddle I get into!”

“It’s not a question of your brains, or the grey fluff that passes for brains with you. It’s a question of eyes. It’s a question of what you saw.”

“But I didn’t see anything.”