room.”
“Disgraceful,” said Miss Logan. “I will not have the servants touching my things.”
“Where ought it to be?”
“In the bookshelf in my sitting-room—or—stay, I lent it to Mary. The dear girl is very interested in herbs. She has made one or two experiments in my little kitchen. I have a little place of my own, you know, where I brew liqueurs and make preserves in the old fashioned way. Dear Lucy, Lady Radclyffe, you know, used to swear by my tansy tea—a wonderful thing for a cold in the head. Poor Lucy, she was subject to colds. So is Dennis. Dear boy, his father was my first cousin.”
Tommy interrupted these reminiscences.
“This kitchen of yours? Does anyone else use it except you and Miss Chilcott?”
“Hannah clears up there. And she boils the kettle there for our early morning tea.”
“Thank you, Miss Logan,” said Tommy. “There is nothing more I want to ask you at present. I hope we haven’t tired you too much.”
He left the room and went down the stairs, frowning to himself.
“There is something here, my dear Mr. Ricardo, that I do not understand.”
“I hate this house,” said Tuppence with a shiver. “Let’s go for a good long walk and try to think things out.”
Tommy complied and they set out. First they left the cocktail glass at the doctor’s house