“Well, the wrappers were there. Did it from habit, I suppose, and as to refilling, there is always a lot of stuff they send in paper parcels that burst after a time. And then, who can tell? I suppose you didn’t taste it, sir? But, of course, you are sure.⁠ ⁠…”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t taste it. It is all overboard now.”

Behind me, a soft, cultivated voice said: “I have tasted it. It seemed a mixture of all sorts, sweetish, saltish, very horrible.”

Ransome, stepping out of the pantry, had been listening for some time, as it was very excusable in him to do.

“A dirty trick,” said Mr. Burns. “I always said he would.”