“Who could want to poison Gerald?” Mrs. Warnham cried. “He says some one did,” Warnham growled. “When do you suppose he took the stuff, Fortune? At the party or after he came home?” “What did he have when he came home?” Warnham looked at his wife. “Only a little milk. He wouldn’t eat anything,” she said. “And I tasted his milk, I remember. It was quite nice.” “That points to the party,” Eden said. “But I can’t believe it. Who could want to poison Gerald?” “I’ve seen some of the people who were there,” Eden frowned. “I don’t believe there’s another child ill. Only this one of the whole party.” “Yes. Yes. A strange case,” said Reggie. “Was there anyone there with a grudge against you, Mrs. Warnham?” “I don’t think there’s anyone with a grudge against me in the world.” “I don’t believe there is, Catherine,” her husband looked at her. “But damn it. Fortune found the stuff in the child. I say, Fortune, what do you advise?” “You’re sure of your own household? There’s nobody here jealous of the child?” Mrs. Warnham looked her distress. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t doubt anybody. There isn’t any reason. You know, it doesn’t seem real.” “And there it is,” Warnham growled. “Yes. Well, I shouldn’t talk about it, you know. When he’s up again take him right away, somewhere quiet. You’ll live with him yourself, of course. That’s all safe. And I--well, I shan’t forget the case. Good-bye.” “Oh, Mr. Fortune----” she started up and caught his hands. “Yes, yes, good-bye,” said Reggie, and got away. But as Warnham let them out he felt Warnham’s lean hand grip into his arm. “A little homely comfort would be grateful,” Reggie murmured. “Come and have tea at the Academies, Eden. They keep a pleasing muffin.” He sank down in his car at Eden’s side with a happy sigh. But Eden’s brow was troubled. “Do you think the child will be safe now, Fortune?” he said. “Oh, I think so. If it was Warnham or Mrs. Warnham who poisoned him----” “Good Lord! You don’t think that?” “They are frightened,” said Reggie placidly, “I frightened ’em quite a lot. And if it was somebody else--the child is going away and Mrs. Warnham will be eating and drinking everything he eats and drinks. The small Gerald will be all right. There remains only the little problem, who was it?” “It’s a diabolical affair. Who could want to kill that child?” “Diabolical is the word,” Reggie agreed. “And a little simple food is what we need,” and they went into the club and through a long tea he talked to Eden of rock gardens and Chinese nursery rhymes. But when Eden, somewhat dazed by his appetite and the variety of his conversation, was gone, he made for that corner of the club where Lomas sat drinking tea made in the Russian manner. He pointed a finger at the clear weak fluid. “It was sad and bad and mad and it was not even sweet,” he complained. “Take care, Lomas. Think what’s happened to Russia. You would never be happy as a Bolshevik.”