The sickly sweet stench of death almost overwhelmed them as they opened the front door of the strange little house. Hastings staggered but Poirot steadied him.
    "Be brave, mon ami. It is not only the smell of death that lingers here. Evil also is in the air."
    "You knew she would come here, Poirot?"
    "Ah yes, Hastings. The little gray cells, n'est pas? But I fear we are too late."
    They struggled against the nauseating smell and went inside. As their eyes became accustomed to the gloom they were able to make out the gray shapes of overturned furniture. Poirot went to a window and threw open the shutters.
    "Good heavens, Poirot! Are those teeth marks all over the furniture?"
    "Yes, my friend. We must remember that we are dealing with a mind that is not stable."
    They made their way past the overturned and gnawed remains of the dining room and entered the kitchen. The body was in a chair and slumped over the table. In one hand was a small straw. Next to the head was an empty container with a white powdery residue in it.
    "It is all made clear, is it not?"
    "I don't understand, Poirot. I thought it would be the Wicked Witch's body we'd find."
    "Ah, yes." Poirot walked over to the stove and briefly held his hand over it. "I fear we shall find nothing more than her ashes, mon ami."
    "To me it seems inexplicable."
    "And yet, my friend, all is as I expected to find it before we came here. Everything we have seen flows from the insane cravings of this unfortunate creature you see before you. It was her cravings for that powder that finally killed her."
    Hastings dabbed his finger in the powder and tasted it.
    "Sugar! It's nothing but sugar!"
    "You expected something else? Pas possible! Not for this one. It was her addiction...and her downfall."
    "Glinda the Good Witch was an addict? She seemed so sweet."
    "Exactement! Too sweet. No person, especially a witch person, is that sweet by nature. No, Hastings, it was the unnaturalness of her sweetness that brought all this to pass. Her's was the sweetness of incessant consumption of sugar. She squandered her savings on confections and when the money ran out she turned to crime."
    "Which led her here."
    "Inevitablement! In her demented state of mind she could think of no better place to get her fix than this gingerbread house."
    "The teeth marks on the furniture!"
    "Mais oui, she tried to sate her infernal appetite on the furniture but it was too old and stale. And so she came in here to find this." Poirot picked up the empty sugar container. "She found a straw and snorted the entire contents in her mania to get a sugar high. A high from which she will never return."
    "But how did she get the Wicked Witch into the oven?"
    "Perhaps the Wicked Witch had been baking little children and went to check on them when Glinda crept up and pushed her in. Quelle difference. She was out of her mind. It was the white powder that killed these two."
    "That damnable sugar! When will we ever learn to do without it!"
    "Who can say, my friend. It is not a rational desire."