Agatha ChristieCHAPTER ONE
Miss Somers, who was not the best typist in the office, poured the tea and took the cups round.
Miss Griffith, the well-organized head typist who had been with Consolidated Investments Trust for sixteen years, tasted her tea and asked sharply. 'Are you sure the water was boiling when you put it on the tea leaves, Somers? If it isn't boiling, the tea tastes horrible!
At that moment Miss Grosvenor, an incredibly glamorous blonde, who was Mr Fortescue's personal secretary, came in to make his tea herself. Then she went out again, carrying the tea tray in front of her.
Mr Fortescue's office was a large room with a shining wood floor and behind a huge desk sat Mr Fortescue, a large, fat man with a bald head. Miss Grosvenor put the tray on the desk saying quietly, 'Your tea, Mr Fortescue,' then left. Miss Grosvenor went back into her own office, made two telephone calls and looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past eleven. Just then a terrible cry came from Mr Fortescue's office. Miss Grosvenor rushed in and found her employer behind his desk, his body twisting in pain. He was finding it difficult to speak.
'Tea - what did you put in the tea - get a doctor...'
Miss Grosvenor went running into the typists' office, shouting, 'Mr Fortescue - we must get a doctor - I'm sure he's dying.'
But it had never been necessary to call a doctor to the office before now. Where was there a doctor nearby? Miss Griffith said, 'We can call his own doctor! Get the private address book.' Then, just to be sure, she told the office boy to go out and find a doctor - anywhere.
Miss Grosvenor said tearfully, 'There couldn't have been anything wrong with the tea. But Mr Fortescue - he said it was the tea...'
A short while later Dr Isaacs, a local doctor the office boy had found and Sir Edwin Sandeman, Mr Fortescue's doctor, met in the lift.