POSTERN OF FATE Agatha Christie

Rather an appetizing smell met him. He went quickly to the kitchen,
where Tuppence turned from the stove and gave him a smile of
welcome.
'You're ever so late,' she said. 'This is a casserole. Smells rather good,
don't you think? I put some rather unusual things in it this time. There
were some herbs in the garden, at least I hope they were herbs.'
'If they weren't herbs,' said Tommy, 'I suppose they were Deadly
Nightshade, or Digitalis leaves pretending to be something else but
really foxglove. Where on earth have you been?'
'I took Hannibal for a walk.'
Hannibal, at this moment, made his own presence felt. He rushed at
Tommy and gave him such a rapturous welcome as nearly to fell him to
the ground. Hannibal was a small black dog, very glossy, with
interesting tan patches on his behind and each side of his cheeks. He
was a Manchester terrier of very pure pedigree and he considered
himself to be on a much higher level of sophistication and aristocracy
than any other dog he met.
'Oh, good gracious. I took a look round. Where've you been? It wasn't
very nice weather.'
'No, it wasn't. It was very sort of foggy and misty. Ah - I'm quite tired,
too.'
'Where did you go? Just down the street for the shops?'