Mrs. Curtis could not find the cyanide.
This did not surprise Mrs. Curtis. It had been such a long time since there had been a rat problem that she could not recall where she put the last bottle, or even if there was one. She might have used it all up or gotten rid of it. Agatha was often telling her how dangerous the house was and how disgraceful it was to have poison around. To hear Agatha tell it, it was a wonder Mrs. Curtis had not been destroyed years ago by rancid cod liver oil or the freon from her icebox.
"Mother, the wiring in this house is positively ancient! It could set the house on fire one night while you are asleep and then what would happen to you?"
Mrs. Curtis supposed she would die. That is what usually happened to people whose houses burned around them, in her experience. She did not say this to Agatha, though. Agatha was a worrier. "Sensitive," they called it, but Mrs. Curtis knew she was just a worrier with nothing to worry at.
Agatha often urged Mrs. Curtis to sell the old house and move into something more modern, but Mrs. Curtis could not leave. It was the house where she and Mr. Curtis had lived ever since they were married. Abandoning the house would be abandoning Mr. Curtis, and Mrs. Curtis could not do that. So, she would smile at Agatha, insist she was fine, and make them both a nice cup of tea.
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