I said. “I think each one of us in his secret heart fancies himself as Sherlock Holmes.”
Then I told her of the three summonses I had received that afternoon. I told her of Anne’s discovery of the picture with the slashed face. I also told her of Miss Cram’s attitude at the police station, and I described Haydock’s identification of the crystal I had picked up.
“Having found that myself,” I finished up, “I should like it to be important. But it’s probably got nothing to do with the case.”
“I have been reading a lot of American detective stories from the library lately,” said Miss Marple, “hoping to find them helpful.”
“Was there anything in them about picric acid?”
“I’m afraid not. I do remember reading a story once, though, in which a man was poisoned by picric acid and lanolin being rubbed on him as an ointment.”