Black Coffee by Agatha Christie Page A

there - not all domestics would be so conscientious.”
    “Yes,” Barbara agreed. “I thought it odd last night that it wasn't dusty.”
    “You had this case of drugs down last night?” Poirot asked her.
    “Yes, after dinner. It's full of old hospital stuff, you know.”
    “Let us have a look at these hospital drugs,” suggested Poirot as he opened the box. Taking out some phials and holding them up, he raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
    “Strychnine - atropine - a very pretty little collection! Ah! Here is a tube of hyoscine, nearly empty!”
    “What?” exclaimed Barbara. “Why, they were all full last night. I'm sure they were.”
    “Voilà!” Poirot held out a tube to her, and then replaced it in the box. “This is very curious. You say that all these little - what do you call them - phials - were full? Where exactly was this case of drugs last night, mademoiselle?”
    “Well, when we took it down, we placed it on this table,” Barbara informed him. “And Dr Carelli was looking through the drugs, commenting on them and -”
    She broke off as Lucia entered the room. Richard Amory's wife looked surprised to see the two men. Her pale, proud face seemed careworn in the daylight, and there was something wistful in the curve of her mouth.
    Barbara hastened to her. “Oh, darling, you shouldn't have got up,” she told Lucia. “I was just coming up to you.”
    “My headache is much better, Barbara dear,” Lucia replied, her eyes fixed on Poirot. “I came down because I want to speak to Monsieur Poirot.”
    “But, my pet, don't you think you should -”
    “Please, Barbara.”
    “Oh, very well, you know best,” said Barbara as she moved to the door, which Hastings rushed to open for her. When she had gone, Lucia moved to a chair and sat down.
    “Monsieur Poirot -” she began.
    “I am at your service, madame,” Poirot responded politely.
    Lucia spoke hesitantly, and her voice trembled a little.
    “Monsieur Poirot,” she began again, “last night I made a request to you. I asked you to stay on here. I - I begged you to do so. This morning I see that I made a mistake.”
    “Are you sure, madame?” Poirot asked her quietly.
    “Quite sure. I was nervous last night, and overwrought. I am most grateful to you for doing what I asked, but now it is better that you should go.”
    “Ah, c'est comme ça,” Poirot murmured beneath his breath. Aloud, his response was merely a noncommittal “I see, madame.”
    Rising, Lucia glanced at him nervously as she asked, “That is settled, then?”
    “Not quite, madame,” replied Poirot, taking a step towards her. “If you remember, you expressed a doubt that your father-in-law had died a natural death.”
    “I was hysterical last night,” Lucia insisted. “I did not know what I was saying.”
    “Then you are now convinced,” Poirot persisted, “that his death was, after all, natural?”
    “Absolutely,” Lucia declared.
    Poirot's eyebrows rose a trifle. He looked at her in silence.
    “Why do you look at me like that?” Lucia asked with alarm in her voice.
    “Because, madame, it is sometimes difficult to set a dog on the scent. But once he has found it, nothing on earth will make him leave it. Not if he is a good dog. And I, madame, I, Hercule Poirot, am a very good dog!”
    In great agitation, Lucia declared, “Oh! But you must, you really must go. I beg you, I implore you. You don't know what harm you may do by remaining!”
    “Harm?” asked Poirot. “To you, madame?”
    “To all of us, Monsieur Poirot. I can't explain further, but I beg you to accept my word that it is so. From the first moment I saw you, I trusted you. Please -”
    She broke off as the door opened, and Richard, looking shocked, entered with Dr Graham. “Lucia!” her husband exclaimed as he caught sight of her.
    “Richard, what is it?” asked Lucia anxiously as she rushed to his side. “What has happened? Something new has happened, I can see it in your face. What is