The coroner leaned forward and put the next question impressively. “Was it possible for the arsenic to have been put into the decanter between your placing it on the sideboard and the arrival of the company for dinner?” “I don’t think so, sir. I was late with some of the wine, and did not leave the dining-room at all till the company arrived.” “It was possible, however, for anyone to reach the wine while you were out of the room?” persisted the coroner. “It was possible; but the servants were very busy.” “How many servants were there in the room besides yourself?” “Two.” “You yourself poured out the claret which Lord Gascoyne drank?” “Yes, sir.” “What did you do with the decanter?” “As usual, I placed it in front of his lordship.” “And then you left the room?” “Yes.” “And the other servants also, I suppose?” “Yes, sir.” There was a pause. An unaccountable whimsicality made me think of the game which children play, and which consists in sending someone out of the room and then hiding an article which the absent one is to find on his return. I felt almost inclined to cry hot and cold to the coroner as he hovered over the evidence. Not that I felt callous as to what might be going to occur. I had enjoyed life far too much. On the other hand, I had always reckoned the cost, and had never counted my chickens before they were hatched. Mr. Gascoyne crossed over to me in the interval, and said in an undertone: “What does it all mean?” “I really do not know,” I said. “Surely they are not trying to prove that his own servants poisoned him?” “The poison must have come from somewhere.” “Yes; that is obvious.” He looked at me in some surprise. I noticed his almost startled expression, and began to analyse the remark I had made. Was it what I should have said had I been guiltless? If it had been, Mr. Gascoyne would not have displayed such discomfort—a vague discomfort, true, but an evidently indefinable sensation that something was wrong. He was from that moment uneasy about me, and yet almost unconscious of any uneasiness. The other servants were recalled, and declared that neither of them had touched the wine. It would have been such an unusual thing that the one who had done so would have been noticed by the other. The claret was in a very peculiarly shaped flagon. By no possibility of means could anyone have mistaken it for the claret which was offered during the meal. Evidence then followed as to all the wine which was handed round during the dinner. There was champagne, said Waters, but only Mrs. Gascoyne took any. Neither Lady Gascoyne nor Mrs. Rank drank anything. Lord Gascoyne drank nothing but claret—the claret—at the end of the meal. Mr. Rank drank port at the end of the meal.