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Агата Кристи
She began to laugh hysterically. She said:
‘It was seaweed—only seaweed—and that’s what the smell was…’
And then the faintness came over her once more—waves upon waves of sickness. Again someone took her head and forced it between her knees.
Aeons of time seemed to pass. They were offering her something to drink—pressing the glass against her lips. She smelt brandy.
She was just about to gulp the spirit gratefully down when, suddenly, a warning note—like an alarm bell—sounded in her brain. She sat up, pushing the glass away.
She said sharply: ‘Where did this come from?’
Blore’s voice answered. He stared a minute before speaking. He said:
‘I got it from downstairs.’
Vera cried:
‘I won’t drink it…’
There was a moment’s silence, then Lombard laughed. He said with appreciation:
‘Good for you, Vera. You’ve got your wits about you—even if you have been scared half out of your life. I’ll get a fresh bottle that hasn’t been opened.’
He went swiftly out.
Vera said uncertainly:
‘I’m all right now. I’ll have some water.’
Armstrong supported her as she struggled to her feet. She went over to the basin, swaying and clutching at him for support. She let the cold tap run and then filled the glass.
Blore said resentfully:
‘That brandy’s all right.’
Armstrong said:
‘How do you know?’
Blore said angrily:
‘I didn’t put anything in it. That’s what you’re getting at I suppose.’
Armstrong said:
‘I’m not saying you did. You might have done, or someone might have tampered with the bottle for just this emergency.’
Lombard came swiftly back into the room.
He had a new bottle of brandy in his hands and a corkscrew. He thrust the sealed bottle under Vera’s nose.
‘There you are, my girl. Absolutely no deception.’ He peeled off the tin foil and drew the cork. ‘Lucky there’s a good supply of spirits in the house. Thoughtful of U. N. Owen.’
Vera shuddered violently.
Armstrong held the glass while Philip poured the brandy into it. He said:
‘You’d better drink this, Miss Claythorne. You’ve had a nasty shock.’
Vera drank a little of the spirit. The colour came back to her face.
Philip Lombard said with a laugh:
‘Well, here’s one murder that hasn’t gone according to plan!’
Vera said almost in a whisper:
‘You think—that was what was meant?’
Lombard nodded.
‘Expected you to pass out through fright! Some people would have, wouldn’t they, doctor?’
Armstrong did not commit himself. He said doubtfully:
‘H’m, impossible to say. Young healthy subject—no cardiac weakness. Unlikely. On the other hand—’
He picked up the glass of brandy that Blore had brought. He dipped a finger in it, tasted it gingerly. His expression did not alter. He said dubiously: ‘H’m, tastes all right.’
Blore stepped forward angrily. He said:
‘If you’re saying that I tampered with that, I’ll knock your ruddy block off.’
Vera, her wits revived by the brandy, made a diversion by saying:
‘Where’s the judge?’
The three men looked at each other.
Blore said:
