Sir Charles shook his head.
“Nobody who knew Tollie at all well would have tried poisoning him in a cocktail.
Why?”
“Because he never drank them.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Poirot made a gesture of annoyance.
“Ah - this business - it goes all wrong.
It does not make sense ... ”
“Besides,” went on Sir Charles, “I don’t see how any one glass could have been mistaken for another - or anything of that kind.
Temple carried them round on a tray and everyone helped themselves to any glass they fancied.”
“True,” murmured Poirot. “One cannot force a cocktail like one forces a card.
What is she like, this Temple of yours?
She is the maid who admitted me tonight - yes?”
“That’s right.
I’ve had her three or four years - nice steady girl - knows her work.
I don’t know where she came from - Miss Milray would know all about that.”
“Miss Milray, that is your secretary?
The tall woman - somewhat of the Grenadier?”
“Very much of the Grenadier,” agreed Sir Charles.
“I have dined with you before on various occasions, but I do not think I met her until that night.”
“No, she doesn’t usually dine with us.
It was a question of thirteen, you see.”
Sir Charles explained the circumstances, to which Poirot listened very attentively.
“It was her own suggestion that she should be present?
I see.” He remained lost in thought a minute, then she said: “Might I speak to this parlourmaid of yours, this Temple?”
“Certainly, my dear fellow.”
Sir Charles pressed a bell.
It was answered promptly.
“You rang, sir?”
Temple was a tall girl of thirty-two or three.
She had a certain smartness - her hair was well brushed and glossy, but she was not pretty.
Her manner was calm and efficient.
“M. Poirot wants to ask you a few questions,” said Sir Charles.
Temple transferred her superior gaze to Poirot.
“We are talking of the night when Mr. Babbington died here,” said Poirot. “You remember that night?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“I want to know exactly how cocktails were served.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“I want to know about the cocktails.
Did you mix them?”
“No, sir, Sir Charles liked doing that himself.
I brought in the bottle - the vermouth, the gin, and all that.”
“Where did you put them?”
“On the table there, sir.” She indicated a table by the wall. “The tray with the glasses stood here, sir.
Sir Charles, when he had finished mixing and shaking, poured out the cocktails into the glasses.
Then I took the tray round and handed it to the ladies and gentlemen.”
“Were all the cocktails on the tray you handed?”
“Sir Charles gave one to Miss Lytton Gore, sir; he was talking to her at the time, and he took his own.
And Mr. Satterthwaite - ” her eyes shifted to him for a moment “ - came and fetched one for a lady - Miss Wills, I think it was.”