A Pocket Full of Rye. Агата Кристи

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       CHAPTER 8

      ‘I’ve got what I could, sir.’ So Sergeant Hay reported. ‘The marmalade, bit of the ham. Samples of tea, coffee and sugar, for what they’re worth. Actual brews have been thrown out by now, of course, but there’s one point. There was a good lot of coffee left over and they had it in the servants’ hall at elevenses—that’s important, I should say.’

      ‘Yes, that’s important. Shows that if he took it in his coffee, it must have been slipped into the actual cup.’

      ‘By one of those present. Exactly. I’ve inquired, cautious like, about the yew stuff—berries or leaves—there’s been none of it seen about the house. Nobody seems to know anything about the cereal in his pocket, either … It just seems daft to them. Seems daft to me, too. He doesn’t seem to have been one of those food faddists who’ll eat any mortal thing so long as it isn’t cooked. My sister’s husband’s like that. Raw carrots, raw peas, raw turnips. But even he doesn’t eat raw grain. Why, I should say it would swell up in your inside something awful.’