Anderson nodded brightly.
‘There was a certain amount in evidence, I must admit. In point of fact the togs I was wearing at the time got fairly comprehensively besmirched-hence the present nifty outfit with its subtle overtones of naphthalene.’
He upended the glass and let the final drop roll into his open mouth.
‘Fortunately the damage seems to be considerably less serious than we first feared,’ he went on. ‘Letty applied first aid immediately, and with any luck the effects will hardly be noticeable once the garments in question have been to the cleaners.’
He sighed deeply.
‘Channing, on the other hand, resembles the proverbial dog’s dinner-as is only to be expected under the circumstances. We’re expecting Dr Morel any moment with the results of Mrs Davenport’s tests. He should be able to give George a shot to put him out of his misery.’
He shook his head sadly.
‘Never try and outrun a Dobermann. It awakens their atavistic instinct to mutilate prey.’
There was the sound of a car drawing up outside.
‘Ah, I expect that’ll be Jim now,’ Anderson remarked.
He gave Dorothy a sympathetic smile.
‘You’ll naturally be anxious to learn your fate as soon as possible, Mrs Davenport. Is the cancer rampaging through your body like a forest fire out of control, sweeping all before it, or is it at present confined to a specific organ or member which might conveniently be gouged out or lopped off? That’s the question we’re all asking ourselves, and I’ll let you know the answer just as soon as Jim’s patched up old Channers. Meanwhile do help yourselves to tea. For your own sake, I would strongly advise you to try and avoid making too much mess. Judging by what I found floating in the loo this morning it’s Letitia’s time of the month, and you know how touchy she can get, particularly after a stressful day like this. Bye-eee!’
With a cheery salute, Anderson walked out. One by one, the residents got up from their chairs and formed a silent huddle around the tea trolley, where Belinda Scott took possession of the pot.
‘Right!’ she barked. ‘From the front, in alphabetical order! Ayres?’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Isn’t he dead?’ muttered Grace Lebon eventually.
‘Miss Scott to you!’ rapped Belinda.
Leaving Dorothy slumped in her chair, her head tilted to one side as though to hear better, Rosemary walked over to the trolley.
‘Roland and Hilary are both dead,’ she said. ‘Mr Channing is confined to his room, so Dorothy is next. As she’s feeling poorly, I’ll take it to her.’
‘No you won’t!’ snapped Belinda Scott. ‘You’ll bloody well wait your turn like everyone else.’
She started to fill the thick, chipped cups with tea, adding a splash of milk to each and placing a sachet of sugar in the saucer. When her own turn finally came, Rosemary took a cup for herself and one for Dorothy and walked back to where her friend sat staring down at the faded floral design of the red linoleum.
Rosemary broke open the paper sachets and poured the contents into the grey liquid, its surface filmy with whorls of grease.
‘This would be a good way to kill someone,’ she murmured.
The silence was broken only by the clink of crockery and the sound of Mr Purvey sucking tea through his dentures.
‘How many is it now?’ Dorothy asked suddenly.
Rosemary gave her a cautious glance.
‘How many what?’
‘And no one ever investigates, do they?’ Dorothy went on. ‘After all, it’s the most natural thing in the world for old people to die.’
Rosemary sipped her tea.
‘It’s not a question of common or garden death,’ she remarked dismissively. “It’s a question of murder.’
Dorothy gave a wan smile.
‘Oh well, that’s different, of course.’
Rosemary picked up one of the empty sachets.
‘All the killer would need to do is steam one of these open carefully, so as not to tear the paper. Then he…’
She paused, eyeing her friend expectantly.
‘Or she,’ Dorothy murmured at length.
Rosemary nodded.
‘…would refill the sachet with poison…’
‘…from the potting shed in the kitchen garden…’
‘…where everyone has been at some time or another…’
‘.. on some more or less feeble pretext,’ concluded Dorothy. ‘Yes, but how would you make sure that the intended victim was given the poisoned sachet?’
Rosemary frowned.
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Dorothy sipped her tea.
‘Cocoa would be better,’ she said.
‘But that’s already sugared,’ objected Rosemary.
Dorothy’s needles clacked assiduously.
‘Yes, but it tastes so strong that you could add poison without the victim noticing.’
Rosemary shook her head.
‘You’ve still got the same problem, Dot. The mugs of cocoa are just left out on a tray in the hall. There’s no way of making sure that the poison reaches the right person.’
Dorothy set down her knitting. She cradled the tea cup in her hands, as though to warm them.
‘I always take the blue one. Most people use the same mug every night. Yours is the brown one with the broken handle glued back on. Charles likes the dark green one, while Grace prefers the pale pink. Weatherby always uses that hideous coronation mug, and Mrs Hargreaves…’
‘You haven’t really changed your will, have you Dot?’ Rosemary interrupted.
Dorothy picked up her knitting without answering. Rosemary looked at her friend with a preoccupied expression.
‘It’s none of my business, of course,’ she went on, ‘but I must say that I would personally consider it most unwise to put any faith in promises which may have been made in a certain quarter. I shouldn’t think there’s the slightest chance of their being honoured.’
Dorothy clutched her chest and moaned.
‘What is it?’ cried Rosemary in alarm.
‘I’m all right. Only would you be an angel and fetch my medicine? What with one thing and another I never did manage to get upstairs, and now it’s started to hurt quite badly.’
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Rosemary, springing to her feet.
Dorothy tried a smile which did not quite come off.
‘Could you possibly spare that thick cardie of yours? I feel the cold so now that winter’s here.’
‘Of course you can. Although it’s only September, you know. Or October at the latest.’
‘Does it matter?’ Dorothy returned in an oddly muted voice. ‘You can’t change anything with words, Rose. I’m cold.’
CHAPTER 3
Rosemary made her way along the corridor which wound about the first floor of the building, connecting the various bedrooms. Most of the doors were either closed or slightly ajar, but at length a further bend in the passage
