He stood, going to another of the shelves with drawers and withdrew a pack of matches. She’d forgotten he didn’t smoke, unlike Lee who was ever ready with a light.
With the spirit lamp lit, the contents of the cabinet were revealed. More laboratory equipment lay within.
Heart pounding, Saffron began carefully bringing each piece out. A weighted stand with an adjustable arm, somewhat rusty. A glass beaker, the neck of which would fit into the stand, tinted brown around the bottom, came out next. Finally, two glass jars containing dried leaves.
She carefully pried the lid of the first container off and took a hesitant sniff.
“He used it to make tea!” Saffron exclaimed, unexpectedly delighted.
“Bit elaborate,” Alexander said, accepting the container to smell its contents. “It’s not tea.”
“No, but it is definitely herbal. And we know well the dangers of making tea from things we ought not to. What if these were what made him ill?” She held up the two jars.
“It is possible,” he said cautiously. “But how could you prove it?”
“We figure out what’s in the jars, of course. And I know just where to start.”
CHAPTER17
They returned to the market, where Saffron marched up to the first spice vendor she saw. Jar held up, she asked, “I would like to buy more of this herb.”
The vendor squinted at her, making her already narrow eyes almost disappear into her layers of wrinkles.
Saffron repeated herself, and the woman waved her hand for the jar. She opened it, sniffed it, then shook her head. “Grigory.” She pointed to another cart.
They thanked her and went to Grigory’s cart. He was a thin, middle-aged man, his gaunt cheeks ruddy and his gray eyes sharp under a swath of black hair sticking out from beneath a worn cap. He’d seen the other vendor point to him and watched them approach.
“Good morning,” Saffron said. She held up the jar. “I would like to buy more of that.”
He beckoned for it and stared at its contents. He then looked her up and down in a rather offensive way. In heavily accented English, he said, “What you want it for?”
“For my own reasons,” she replied. “Have you any?”
“Is for milk,” he said, looking between her and Alexander now with the same sort of rude speculation. When Saffron merely looked at him blankly, he held his hands out in front of his chest with cupped hands. “Milk for baby.”
“Oh,” Saffron gasped, face flaming. Next to her, she thought she heard Alexander choke on a laugh. She shook her head vigorously. “Not for me. For my, er, grandfather.”
“Oh,” repeated the man, nodding. “Grandfather. He has pain?”
Saffron nodded, relieved. “Yes.”
Grigory knelt behind his cart, sorting through crates. “Hands? Feet?”
“Er, both,” Saffron said.
Grigory returned with a burlap sack. He waved for the jar, and Saffron shook her head. She had to return this jar to the flat for Inspector Green to find later. “I need a new jar.”
Grigory grunted and stooped down again, returning with another jar. He scooped it into the sack, coming out with it brimming with dried flowers and leaves.
He sealed it, then handed it to her. She compared the two containers.
It was clear they held the same dried plant. The bits of faded magenta petals mixed with olive-green leaves and stems matched. “Thank you. What is it called?”
Grigory replied with a word in what she guessed was Russian, but she would have had no hope of repeating it, let alone writing it down. “Do you know the name in English?”
He screwed up his face in thought. “No.”
“What about this one?” Alexander handed Grigory the next jar, and he frowned at it.
