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action.”
    The reporters wrote: “Extraordinary story. Snake poison in air drama. Deadlier than the cobra.”
    “Have you ever known the venom to be used in a case of deliberate poisoning?”
    “Never. It is most interesting.”
    “Thank you, Mr Winterspoon.”
    Detective Sergeant Wilson deposed to the finding of the blowpipe behind the cushion of one of the seats. There were no fingerprints on it. Experiments had been made with the dart and the blowpipe. What you might call the range of it was fairly accurate up to about ten yards.
    “M. Hercule Poirot.”
    There was a little stir of interest, but M. Poirot's evidence was very restrained. He had noticed nothing out of the way. Yes, it was he who had found the tiny dart on the floor of the car. It was in such a position as it would naturally have occupied if it had fallen from the neck of the dead woman.
    “The Countess of Horbury.”
    The reporters wrote: “Peer's wife gives evidence in air death mystery.” Some of them put: “in snake-poison mystery.”
    Those who wrote for women's papers put: “Lady Horbury wore one of the new collegian hats and fox furs” or “Lady Horbury, who is one of the smartest women in town, wore black with one of the new collegian hats” or “Lady Horbury, who before her marriage was Miss Cicely Bland, was smartly dressed in black, with one of the new hats.”
    Everyone enjoyed looking at the smart and lovely young woman, though her evidence was the briefest. She had noticed nothing; she had never seen the deceased before.
    Venetia Kerr succeeded her, but was definitely less of a thrill.
    The indefatigable purveyors of news for women wrote: “Lord Cottesmore's daughter wore a well-cut coat and skirt with one of the new stocks.” And noted down the phrase: “Society women at inquest.”
    “James Ryder.”
    “You are James Bell Ryder and your address is 17 Blainberry Avenue, N.W.?”
    “Yes.”
    “What is your business or profession?”
    “I am managing director of the Ellis Vale Cement Co.”
    “Will you kindly examine the blowpipe?” A pause. “Have you ever seen this before?”
    “No.”
    “You did not see any such thing in anybody's hand on board the 'Prometheus'?”
    “No.”
    “You were sitting in Seat No. 4, immediately in front of the deceased.”
    “What if I was?”
    “Please do not take that tone with me. You were sitting in Seat No. 4. From that seat you had a view of practically everyone in the compartment.”
    “No, I hadn't. I couldn't see any of the people on my side of the thing. The seats have got high backs.”
    “But if one of those people had stepped out into the gangway, into such a position as to be able to aim the blowpipe at the deceased, you would have seen them then?”
    “Certainly.”
    “And you saw no such thing?”
    “No.”
    “Did any of the people in front of you move from their seats?”
    “Well, the man two seats ahead of me got up and went to the wash-room compartment.”
    “That was in a direction away from you and from the deceased?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he come down the car towards you at all?”
    “No, he went straight back to his seat.”
    “Was he carrying anything in his hand?”
    “Nothing at all.”
    “You're quite sure of that?”
    “Quite.”
    “Did anyone else move from his seat?”
    “The chap in front of me. He came the other way - past me to the back of the car.”
    “I protest,” squeaked Mr Clancy, springing up from his seat in court. “That was earlier - much earlier - about one o'clock.”
    “Kindly sit down,” said the coroner. “You will be heard presently... Proceed, Mr Ryder. Did you notice if this gentleman had anything in his hands?”
    “I think he had a fountain pen. When he came back he had an orange-colored book in his hand.”
    “Is he the only person who came down the car in your direction? Did you yourself leave your seat?”
    “Yes, I went to the wash-room compartment - and I didn't have any blowpipe in my hand