Vincent has an unusual occupation: his discovery of an odourless, tasteless, all-natural poison which causes a painless suicide has turned him into a professional suicide merchant. When he is contracted by Walter Bryce, he arrives at the Bryces country house and mistakenly assumes that his product was intended for Walters consumption. It becomes clear that Walters wife, Celia, is the client or is she? Why are all her suicide letters typed and unsigned? A Samaritan agrees to make a house call on the Bryces, but after talking to Vincent, even his faith in this wonderful world is shaken. After several thwarted attempts to poison various characters (resulting in multiple poisonings of a rubber plant), will anyone actually manage to drink the poison? This is black comedy at its blackest and best.