dame beatrice: Granted that the chocolate-cream was doctored at, and sent from, Binnen’s home, I doubt very much whether she herself had any hand in, or knowledge of, the matter.
bernardo: Unless Great-aunt turned the poison in when war ended, Opal or Ruby or both could have got at it. Great-aunt would not use it for murder.
rebekah: Binnen is not poisoning the sweets. That will be Opal or Ruby. I think it is Ruby. She is more wicked.
dame beatrice: So far as I know at present, there is nothing definitive to show that Mr Colwyn-Welch knew or guessed that the chocolate-cream had been poisoned. (She had underlined the first seven words of this answer).
bernardo: I think Florian may have had some suspicion of hanky-panky, but, of course, I don’t know, and would rather not guess.
rebekah: Florian is liking all sweets, whatever he now tells people. Phooey he did not guess this poison! He is not giving away good sweets to barmaids without a reason. Who would? He should be trying them on the rats, not on girls, if he suspects doctored sweets.
dame beatrice: No answer possible at present.
bernardo: I should say it was pretty obvious, but no names, no pack-drill.
rebekah: He is guessing Opal. Always very unhealthy her attitude. Such devotion! Phooey! No flies on Florian.
‘And, of course,’ said Laura, when she also had studied the papers, ‘there
‘I shall send these papers, my own included, to our dear Robert, and then I think we shall do well to await his instructions.’
Gavin telephoned that he would like to talk to Dame Beatrice, and asked her to arrange a time. He arrived, looking, as Laura ungracefully expressed it, ‘like a well-dressed monkey on a stick.’
‘Who does your laundry?’ she demanded. Gavin smirked.
‘One of the sergeants’ wives, I believe,’ he replied.
‘
‘I don’t know, at present. I’ve only been given me raise this week, you see.’
Laura was speechless. Her husband laughed and addressed himself to Dame Beatrice.
‘I enjoyed your dossier, Dame B. How far do you trust the intuition of the Rose family?’
‘No farther than I must, of course, but they are an intelligent couple.’
‘The lad, of course, is cagey, as lads are apt to be—’
‘You cheer a sergeant’s laundry-wife. Thank goodness I ain’t she!’ capped Laura, rather neatly. Gavin blew her a kiss and shot the cuff of an obviously impeccable shirt.
‘Passing lightly on,’ he said, ‘
‘You’d better let Mrs Croc. sort out the Amsterdam household,’ said Laura crisply. ‘And stop trying to look like Perry Mason!’ she added. Gavin grinned.
‘I thought I was more like Doctor Kildare.’ he said, ‘although, of course, younger and better-looking, if you know what I mean. But, to the work in hand.
‘You’ll get it,’ said Laura. ‘I don’t think old Rebekah is right. It isn’t Ruby, it’s Opal, but her reason is a bit far- fetched.’
‘So you know the motive?’
‘Mrs Croc. does, and, knowing Opal’s peculiar mental make-up, I’d say she’s just about right.’
‘Then I’ll leave it to her to sort everything out. How do you feel, Dame B.?’
‘Like the Spartans before Thermopylae,’ Dame Beatrice replied. ‘And, although I lack the sea-wet rocks, I may well find time to sit down and comb my hair, if that is permitted. In other words, time, at present, is not of the essence, as Laura would probably put it.’
She and Laura left for Holland two days later and put up at an hotel in Haarlem, so that they were within easy reach of Binnen and her daughters without actually staying in Amsterdam.
‘About that Thermopylae business,’ said Laura, at breakfast on the first morning of their stay, ‘how, exactly, did you mean?’
‘Thermopylae?’ Dame Beatrice helped herself to the thinly-sliced cheese which, with a platter of cold meat, took the place of the inevitable English bacon and fried egg.
‘Yes, Thermopylae,’ repeated Laura firmly. ‘You know — tell Sparta we lie here obeying her orders, (or something of that sort). Are we proposing to put on an act of Daniel in the lions’ den? Are the Colwyn-Welch mob really dangerous?’
