Black Coffee by Agatha Christie Page B

the world. Very sad, although I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't a blessing in disguise. If she'd had a lot of foreign relations - that would be a bit trying, don't you think? After all, you know what foreigners are! They - oh!” She suddenly broke off, turning in her chair to look at Poirot in embarrassed dismay. “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”
    “Not at all, not at all,” murmured Poirot, with an amused glance at Hastings.
    “So stupid of me,” Miss Amory apologized, highly flustered. “I didn't mean - of course, it's so different in your case. 'Les braves Beiges,' as we used to say during the war.”
    “Please, do not concern yourself,” Poirot assured her.
    After a pause, he continued, as though her mention of the war had reminded him, “I believe - that is - I understand that the box of drugs above the bookcase is a relic of the war. You were all examining it last night, were you not?”
    “Yes, that's right. So we were.”
    “Now, how did that come about?” inquired Poirot.
    Miss Amory considered for a moment before replying.
    “Now, how did it happen? Ah, yes, I remember. I said I wished I had some sal volatile, and Barbara got the box down to look through it, and then the gentlemen came in, and Dr Carelli frightened me to death with the things he said.”
    Hastings began to show great interest in the turn being taken by the discussion, and Poirot prompted Miss Amory to continue. “You mean the things Dr Carelli said about the drugs? He looked through them and examined them thoroughly, I suppose?”
    “Yes,” Miss Amory confirmed, “and he held one glass tube up, something with a most innocent name - bromide, I think - which I have often taken for sea-sickness - and he said it would kill twelve strong men!”
    “Hyoscine hydrobromide?” asked Poirot.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Was it hyoscine hydrobromide that Dr Carelli was referring to?”
    “Yes, yes, that was it,” Miss Amory exclaimed. “How clever of you! And then Lucia took it from him, and repeated something he had said - about a dreamless sleep. I detest this modern neurotic poetry. I always say that, ever since dear Lord Tennyson died, no one has written poetry of any -”
    “Oh dear,” muttered Poirot.
    “I beg your pardon?” asked Miss Amory.
    “Ah, I was just thinking of the dear Lord Tennyson. But please go on. What happened next?”
    “Next?”
    “You were telling us about last night. Here, in this room -”
    “Ah, yes. Well, Barbara wanted to put on an extremely vulgar song. On the gramophone, I mean. Fortunately, I stopped her.”
    “I see,” murmured Poirot. “And this little tube that the doctor held up - was it full?”
    “Oh, yes,” Miss Amory replied without hesitation. “Because, when the doctor made his quotation about dreamless sleep, he said that half the tablets in the tube would be sufficient.”
    Miss Amory got up from her chair and moved away from the table. “You know, Monsieur Poirot,” she continued as Poirot rose to join her, “I've said all along that I didn't like that man. That Dr Carelli. There's something about him - not sincere - and so oily in manner. Of course, I couldn't say anything in front of Lucia, since he is supposed to be a friend of hers, but I did not like him. You see, Lucia is so trusting! I'm certain that the man must have wormed his way into her confidence with a view to getting asked to the house and stealing the formula.”
    Poirot regarded Miss Amory quizzically before he asked, “You have no doubt, then, that it was Dr Carelli who stole Sir Claud's formula?”
    Miss Amory looked at the detective in surprise. “Dear Monsieur Poirot!” she exclaimed. “Who else could have done so? He was the only stranger present. Naturally, my brother would not have liked to accuse a guest, so he made an opportunity for the document to be returned. I thought it was very delicately done. Very delicately indeed!”
    “Quite so,” Poirot agreed tactfully, putting a friendly arm