“I realize that right enough, but I am positive he didn’t do so in this case. Though,” he paused for a moment, “that reminds me that there was an interval between pouring into each cup. He got a fit of coughing after giving me mine and had to put down the flask. But when the paroxysm was over he lifted it again and helped himself.” “There you are,” the manager declared. “During his fit of coughing he substituted a different flask.” “I’ll swear he didn’t. But can’t we settle the thing beyond doubt? Have the cups been washed? If not, can’t we get the dregs analyzed?” “I have already asked the doctor to have it done. He said he would get Mr. Pringle to do it at once: that’s the city analyst. They’re close friends, and Mr. Pringle would do it to oblige him. We should have his report quite soon. I am also having him analyze the remains on the plates which were used. Fortunately, owing to lunch being served in a private room, these had been stacked together and none had been washed. So we should be able to settle the matter quite definitely.” Cheyne nodded as he glanced at his watch. “Good Lord!” he cried, “it’s eight o’clock and I said I should be home by seven! I must ring up my mother or she’ll think something is wrong.” The Cheynes had not themselves a telephone, but their nearest neighbors, people called Hazelton, were good-natured about receiving an occasional message through theirs and transmitting it to Warren Lodge. Cheyne went down to the lounge and put through his call, explaining to Mrs. Hazelton that unforeseen circumstances had necessitated his remaining overnight in Plymouth. The lady promised to have the message conveyed to Mrs. Cheyne and Maxwell rang off. Then as he turned to the dining room, a page told him that the manager would like to see him in his office. “I’ve just got a report from the doctor about that coffee, Mr. Cheyne,” the other greeted him, “and I must say it confirms what you say, though it by no means clears up the mystery. There was brandy in those cups, but no drug: no trace of a drug in either.” “I knew that,” Cheyne rejoined. “Everything that I had for lunch Parkes had also. I was there and I ought to know. But it’s a bit unsettling, isn’t it? Looks as if my heart or something had gone wrong.” The manager looked at him more seriously. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he dissented. “I don’t think you can assume that. The doctor seemed quite satisfied. But if it would ease your mind, why not slip across now and see him? He lives just round the corner.” Cheyne reflected. “I’ll do so,” he answered presently. “If there’s nothing wrong it will prevent me fancying things, and if there is I should know of it. I’ll have some dinner and then go across. By the way, have you said anything to the police?” The manager hesitated.