In the drawing room of an English country house a little old lady sits knitting and discussing the dangers of prescription drugs. Upstairs, a blue poison bottle containing several lethal doses of strychnine is hidden in a drawer. Outside in the kitchen garden some unusual plants are growing among the herbs. On the hall table sits a bag full of pills left behind by the visiting nurse. In the kitchen what looks like sugar has been spilt on a tea tray, or are the small white crystals something else? At the front door a man in a pair of immaculate patent-leather shoes pauses to brush an invisible speck of dust from his lapel before ringing the bell. We are, in all likelihood, in Agatha Christie-land.
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