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diff --git a/old/69087-0.txt b/old/69087-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bd899bf..0000000 --- a/old/69087-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10693 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD -*** - - - - - - THE MURDER OF - ROGER ACKROYD - - BY - - AGATHA CHRISTIE - - AUTHOR OF - THE SECRET OF CHIMNEYS, - THE MURDER ON THE LINKS, Etc. - - [Illustration] - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS NEW YORK - - - Copyright, 1926, - By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. - - - To Punkie, - who likes an orthodox detective - story, murder, inquest, and suspicion - falling on every one in turn! - - - - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I DR. SHEPPARD AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE 1 - - II WHO’S WHO IN KING’S ABBOT 7 - - III THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS 17 - - IV DINNER AT FERNLY 31 - - V MURDER 49 - - VI THE TUNISIAN DAGGER 65 - - VII I LEARN MY NEIGHBOR’S PROFESSION 75 - - VIII INSPECTOR RAGLAN IS CONFIDENT 92 - - IX THE GOLDFISH POND 106 - - X THE PARLORMAID 118 - - XI POIROT PAYS A CALL 136 - - XII ROUND THE TABLE 145 - - XIII THE GOOSE QUILL 156 - - XIV MRS. ACKROYD 165 - - XV GEOFFREY RAYMOND 178 - - XVI AN EVENING AT MAH JONG 190 - - XVII PARKER 202 - - XVIII CHARLES KENT 218 - - XIX FLORA ACKROYD 226 - - XX MISS RUSSELL 238 - - XXI THE PARAGRAPH IN THE PAPER 251 - - XXII URSULA’S STORY 260 - - XXIII POIROT’S LITTLE REUNION 269 - - XXIV RALPH PATON’S STORY 284 - - XXV THE WHOLE TRUTH 289 - - XXVI AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH 298 - - XXVII APOLOGIA 303 - - - - - THE MURDER OF - ROGER ACKROYD - - - - - CHAPTER I - - DR. SHEPPARD AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE - - -Mrs. Ferrars died on the night of the 16th–17th September—a Thursday. I -was sent for at eight o’clock on the morning of Friday the 17th. There -was nothing to be done. She had been dead some hours. - -It was just a few minutes after nine when I reached home once more. I -opened the front door with my latch-key, and purposely delayed a few -moments in the hall, hanging up my hat and the light overcoat that -I had deemed a wise precaution against the chill of an early autumn -morning. To tell the truth, I was considerably upset and worried. I am -not going to pretend that at that moment I foresaw the events of the -next few weeks. I emphatically did not do so. But my instinct told me -that there were stirring times ahead. - -From the dining-room on my left there came the rattle of tea-cups and -the short, dry cough of my sister Caroline. - -“Is that you, James?” she called. - -An unnecessary question, since who else could it be? To tell the -truth, it was precisely my sister Caroline who was the cause of my few -minutes’ delay. The motto of the mongoose family, so Mr. Kipling tells -us, is: “Go and find out.” If Caroline ever adopts a crest, I should -certainly suggest a mongoose rampant. One might omit the first part -of the motto. Caroline can do any amount of finding out by sitting -placidly at home. I don’t know how she manages it, but there it is. I -suspect that the servants and the tradesmen constitute her Intelligence -Corps. When she goes out, it is not to gather in information, but to -spread it. At that, too, she is amazingly expert. - -It was really this last named trait of hers which was causing me these -pangs of indecision. Whatever I told Caroline now concerning the demise -of Mrs. Ferrars would be common knowledge all over the village within -the space of an hour and a half. As a professional man, I naturally -aim at discretion. Therefore I have got into the habit of continually -withholding all information possible from my sister. She usually finds -out just the same, but I have the moral satisfaction of knowing that I -am in no way to blame. - -Mrs. Ferrars’ husband died just over a year ago, and Caroline has -constantly asserted, without the least foundation for the assertion, -that his wife poisoned him. - -She scorns my invariable rejoinder that Mr. Ferrars died of acute -gastritis, helped on by habitual over-indulgence in alcoholic -beverages. The symptoms of gastritis and arsenical poisoning are not, -I agree, unlike, but Caroline bases her accusation on quite different -lines. - -“You’ve only got to look at her,” I have heard her say. - -Mrs. Ferrars, though not in her first youth, was a very attractive -woman, and her clothes, though simple, always seemed to fit her very -well, but all the same, lots of women buy their clothes in Paris and -have not, on that account, necessarily poisoned their husbands. - -As I stood hesitating in the hall, with all this passing through my -mind, Caroline’s voice came again, with a sharper note in it. - -“What on earth are you doing out there, James? Why don’t you come and -get your breakfast?” - -“Just coming, my dear,” I said hastily. “I’ve been hanging up my -overcoat.” - -“You could have hung up half a dozen overcoats in this time.” - -She was quite right. I could have. - -I walked into the dining-room, gave Caroline the accustomed peck on the -cheek, and sat down to eggs and bacon. The bacon was rather cold. - -“You’ve had an early call,” remarked Caroline. - -“Yes,” I said. “King’s Paddock. Mrs. Ferrars.” - -“I know,” said my sister. - -“How did you know?” - -“Annie told me.” - -Annie is the house parlormaid. A nice girl, but an inveterate talker. - -There was a pause. I continued to eat eggs and bacon. My sister’s nose, -which is long and thin, quivered a little at the tip, as it always does -when she is interested or excited over anything. - -“Well?” she demanded. - -“A bad business. Nothing to be done. Must have died in her sleep.” - -“I know,” said my sister again. - -This time I was annoyed. - -“You can’t know,” I snapped. “I didn’t know myself until I got there, -and I haven’t mentioned it to a soul yet. If that girl Annie knows, she -must be a clairvoyant.” - -“It wasn’t Annie who told me. It was the milkman. He had it from the -Ferrars’ cook.” - -As I say, there is no need for Caroline to go out to get information. -She sits at home, and it comes to her. - -My sister continued: - -“What did she die of? Heart failure?” - -“Didn’t the milkman tell you that?” I inquired sarcastically. - -Sarcasm is wasted on Caroline. She takes it seriously and answers -accordingly. - -“He didn’t know,” she explained. - -After all, Caroline was bound to hear sooner or later. She might as -well hear from me. - -“She died of an overdose of veronal. She’s been taking it lately for -sleeplessness. Must have taken too much.” - -“Nonsense,” said Caroline immediately. “She took it on purpose. Don’t -tell me!” - -It is odd how, when you have a secret belief of your own which you do -not wish to acknowledge, the voicing of it by some one else will rouse -you to a fury of denial. I burst immediately into indignant speech. - -“There you go again,” I said. “Rushing along without rhyme or reason. -Why on earth should Mrs. Ferrars wish to commit suicide? A widow, -fairly young still, very well off, good health, and nothing to do but -enjoy life. It’s absurd.” - -“Not at all. Even you must have noticed how different she has been -looking lately. It’s been coming on for the last six months. She’s -looked positively hag-ridden. And you have just admitted that she -hasn’t been able to sleep.” - -“What is your diagnosis?” I demanded coldly. “An unfortunate love -affair, I suppose?” - -My sister shook her head. - -“_Remorse_,” she said, with great gusto. - -“Remorse?” - -“Yes. You never would believe me when I told you she poisoned her -husband. I’m more than ever convinced of it now.” - -“I don’t think you’re very logical,” I objected. “Surely if a woman -committed a crime like murder, she’d be sufficiently cold-blooded to -enjoy the fruits of it without any weak-minded sentimentality such as -repentance.” - -Caroline shook her head. - -“There probably are women like that—but Mrs. Ferrars wasn’t one of -them. She was a mass of nerves. An overmastering impulse drove her on -to get rid of her husband because she was the sort of person who simply -can’t endure suffering of any kind, and there’s no doubt that the wife -of a man like Ashley Ferrars must have had to suffer a good deal——” - -I nodded. - -“And ever since she’s been haunted by what she did. I can’t help -feeling sorry for her.” - -I don’t think Caroline ever felt sorry for Mrs. Ferrars whilst she was -alive. Now that she has gone where (presumably) Paris frocks can no -longer be worn, Caroline is prepared to indulge in the softer emotions -of pity and comprehension. - -I told her firmly that her whole idea was nonsense. I was all the more -firm because I secretly agreed with some part, at least, of what she -had said. But it is all wrong that Caroline should arrive at the truth -simply by a kind of inspired guesswork. I wasn’t going to encourage -that sort of thing. She will go round the village airing her views, and -every one will think that she is doing so on medical data supplied by -me. Life is very trying. - -“Nonsense,” said Caroline, in reply to my strictures. “You’ll see. Ten -to one she’s left a letter confessing everything.” - -“She didn’t leave a letter of any kind,” I said sharply, and not seeing -where the admission was going to land me. - -“Oh!” said Caroline. “So you _did_ inquire about that, did you? I -believe, James, that in your heart of hearts, you think very much as I -do. You’re a precious old humbug.” - -“One always has to take the possibility of suicide into consideration,” -I said repressively. - -“Will there be an inquest?” - -“There may be. It all depends. If I am able to declare myself -absolutely satisfied that the overdose was taken accidentally, an -inquest might be dispensed with.” - -“And are you absolutely satisfied?” asked my sister shrewdly. - -I did not answer, but got up from table. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - WHO’S WHO IN KING’S ABBOT - - -Before I proceed further with what I said to Caroline and what Caroline -said to me, it might be as well to give some idea of what I should -describe as our local geography. Our village, King’s Abbot, is, I -imagine, very much like any other village. Our big town is Cranchester, -nine miles away. We have a large railway station, a small post office, -and two rival “General Stores.” Able-bodied men are apt to leave the -place early in life, but we are rich in unmarried ladies and retired -military officers. Our hobbies and recreations can be summed up in the -one word, “gossip.” - -There are only two houses of any importance in King’s Abbot. One -is King’s Paddock, left to Mrs. Ferrars by her late husband. The -other, Fernly Park, is owned by Roger Ackroyd. Ackroyd has always -interested me by being a man more impossibly like a country squire -than any country squire could really be. He reminds one of the -red-faced sportsmen who always appeared early in the first act of an -old-fashioned musical comedy, the setting being the village green. They -usually sang a song about going up to London. Nowadays we have revues, -and the country squire has died out of musical fashion. - -Of course, Ackroyd is not really a country squire. He is an immensely -successful manufacturer of (I think) wagon wheels. He is a man of -nearly fifty years of age, rubicund of face and genial of manner. -He is hand and glove with the vicar, subscribes liberally to parish -funds (though rumor has it that he is extremely mean in personal -expenditure), encourages cricket matches, Lads’ Clubs, and Disabled -Soldiers’ Institutes. He is, in fact, the life and soul of our peaceful -village of King’s Abbot. - -Now when Roger Ackroyd was a lad of twenty-one, he fell in love with, -and married, a beautiful woman some five or six years his senior. Her -name was Paton, and she was a widow with one child. The history of the -marriage was short and painful. To put it bluntly, Mrs. Ackroyd was -a dipsomaniac. She succeeded in drinking herself into her grave four -years after her marriage. - -In the years that followed, Ackroyd showed no disposition to make a -second matrimonial adventure. His wife’s child by her first marriage -was only seven years old when his mother died. He is now twenty-five. -Ackroyd has always regarded him as his own son, and has brought him up -accordingly, but he has been a wild lad and a continual source of worry -and trouble to his stepfather. Nevertheless we are all very fond of -Ralph Paton in King’s Abbot. He is such a good-looking youngster for -one thing. - -As I said before, we are ready enough to gossip in our village. -Everybody noticed from the first that Ackroyd and Mrs. Ferrars got on -very well together. After her husband’s death, the intimacy became -more marked. They were always seen about together, and it was freely -conjectured that at the end of her period of mourning, Mrs. Ferrars -would become Mrs. Roger Ackroyd. It was felt, indeed, that there was a -certain fitness in the thing. Roger Ackroyd’s wife had admittedly died -of drink. Ashley Ferrars had been a drunkard for many years before his -death. It was only fitting that these two victims of alcoholic excess -should make up to each other for all that they had previously endured -at the hands of their former spouses. - -The Ferrars only came to live here just over a year ago, but a halo of -gossip has surrounded Ackroyd for many years past. All the time that -Ralph Paton was growing up to manhood, a series of lady housekeepers -presided over Ackroyd’s establishment, and each in turn was regarded -with lively suspicion by Caroline and her cronies. It is not too -much to say that for at least fifteen years the whole village has -confidently expected Ackroyd to marry one of his housekeepers. The last -of them, a redoubtable lady called Miss Russell, has reigned undisputed -for five years, twice as long as any of her predecessors. It is felt -that but for the advent of Mrs. Ferrars, Ackroyd could hardly have -escaped. That—and one other factor—the unexpected arrival of a widowed -sister-in-law with her daughter from Canada. Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd, widow -of Ackroyd’s ne’er-do-well younger brother, has taken up her residence -at Fernly Park, and has succeeded, according to Caroline, in putting -Miss Russell in her proper place. - -I don’t know exactly what a “proper place” constitutes—it sounds chilly -and unpleasant—but I know that Miss Russell goes about with pinched -lips, and what I can only describe as an acid smile, and that she -professes the utmost sympathy for “poor Mrs. Ackroyd—dependent on the -charity of her husband’s brother. The bread of charity is so bitter, is -it not? _I_ should be quite miserable if I did not work for my living.” - -I don’t know what Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd thought of the Ferrars affair when -it came on the tapis. It was clearly to her advantage that Ackroyd -should remain unmarried. She was always very charming—not to say -gushing—to Mrs. Ferrars when they met. Caroline says that proves less -than nothing. - -Such have been our preoccupations in King’s Abbot for the last few -years. We have discussed Ackroyd and his affairs from every standpoint. -Mrs. Ferrars has fitted into her place in the scheme. - -Now there has been a rearrangement of the kaleidoscope. From a mild -discussion of probable wedding presents, we have been jerked into the -midst of tragedy. - -Revolving these and sundry other matters in my mind, I went -mechanically on my round. I had no cases of special interest to attend, -which was, perhaps, as well, for my thoughts returned again and again -to the mystery of Mrs. Ferrars’s death. Had she taken her own life? -Surely, if she had done so, she would have left some word behind to -say what she contemplated doing? Women, in my experience, if they once -reach the determination to commit suicide, usually wish to reveal the -state of mind that led to the fatal action. They covet the limelight. - -When had I last seen her? Not for over a week. Her manner then had been -normal enough considering—well—considering everything. - -Then I suddenly remembered that I had seen her, though not to speak -to, only yesterday. She had been walking with Ralph Paton, and I had -been surprised because I had had no idea that he was likely to be in -King’s Abbot. I thought, indeed, that he had quarreled finally with -his stepfather. Nothing had been seen of him down here for nearly six -months. They had been walking along, side by side, their heads close -together, and she had been talking very earnestly. - -I think I can safely say that it was at this moment that a foreboding -of the future first swept over me. Nothing tangible as yet—but a vague -premonition of the way things were setting. That earnest _tête-à-tête_ -between Ralph Paton and Mrs. Ferrars the day before struck me -disagreeably. - -I was still thinking of it when I came face to face with Roger Ackroyd. - -“Sheppard!” he exclaimed. “Just the man I wanted to get hold of. This -is a terrible business.” - -“You’ve heard then?” - -He nodded. He had felt the blow keenly, I could see. His big red cheeks -seemed to have fallen in, and he looked a positive wreck of his usual -jolly, healthy self. - -“It’s worse than you know,” he said quietly. “Look here, Sheppard, I’ve -got to talk to you. Can you come back with me now?” - -“Hardly. I’ve got three patients to see still, and I must be back by -twelve to see my surgery patients.” - -“Then this afternoon—no, better still, dine to-night. At 7.30? Will -that suit you?” - -“Yes—I can manage that all right. What’s wrong? Is it Ralph?” - -I hardly knew why I said that—except, perhaps, that it had so often -been Ralph. - -Ackroyd stared blankly at me as though he hardly understood. I began to -realize that there must be something very wrong indeed somewhere. I had -never seen Ackroyd so upset before. - -“Ralph?” he said vaguely. “Oh! no, it’s not Ralph. Ralph’s in -London——Damn! Here’s old Miss Ganett coming. I don’t want to have to -talk to her about this ghastly business. See you to-night, Sheppard. -Seven-thirty.” - -I nodded, and he hurried away, leaving me wondering. Ralph in London? -But he had certainly been in King’s Abbot the preceding afternoon. He -must have gone back to town last night or early this morning, and yet -Ackroyd’s manner had conveyed quite a different impression. He had -spoken as though Ralph had not been near the place for months. - -I had no time to puzzle the matter out further. Miss Ganett was upon -me, thirsting for information. Miss Ganett has all the characteristics -of my sister Caroline, but she lacks that unerring aim in jumping to -conclusions which lends a touch of greatness to Caroline’s maneuvers. -Miss Ganett was breathless and interrogatory. - -Wasn’t it sad about poor dear Mrs. Ferrars? A lot of people were saying -she had been a confirmed drug-taker for years. So wicked the way -people went about saying things. And yet, the worst of it was, there -was usually a grain of truth somewhere in these wild statements. No -smoke without fire! They were saying too that Mr. Ackroyd had found -out about it, and had broken off the engagement—because there _was_ an -engagement. She, Miss Ganett, had proof positive of that. Of course _I_ -must know all about it—doctors always did—but they never tell? - -And all this with a sharp beady eye on me to see how I reacted to -these suggestions. Fortunately long association with Caroline has led -me to preserve an impassive countenance, and to be ready with small -non-committal remarks. - -On this occasion I congratulated Miss Ganett on not joining in -ill-natured gossip. Rather a neat counterattack, I thought. It left -her in difficulties, and before she could pull herself together, I had -passed on. - -I went home thoughtful, to find several patients waiting for me in the -surgery. - -I had dismissed the last of them, as I thought, and was just -contemplating a few minutes in the garden before lunch when I perceived -one more patient waiting for me. She rose and came towards me as I -stood somewhat surprised. - -I don’t know why I should have been, except that there is a suggestion -of cast iron about Miss Russell, a something that is above the ills of -the flesh. - -Ackroyd’s housekeeper is a tall woman, handsome but forbidding in -appearance. She has a stern eye, and lips that shut tightly, and I feel -that if I were an under housemaid or a kitchenmaid I should run for my -life whenever I heard her coming. - -“Good morning, Dr. Sheppard,” said Miss Russell. “I should be much -obliged if you would take a look at my knee.” - -I took a look, but, truth to tell, I was very little wiser when I had -done so. Miss Russell’s account of vague pains was so unconvincing that -with a woman of less integrity of character I should have suspected a -trumped-up tale. It did cross my mind for one moment that Miss Russell -might have deliberately invented this affection of the knee in order -to pump me on the subject of Mrs. Ferrars’s death, but I soon saw that -there, at least, I had misjudged her. She made a brief reference to the -tragedy, nothing more. Yet she certainly seemed disposed to linger and -chat. - -“Well, thank you very much for this bottle of liniment, doctor,” she -said at last. “Not that I believe it will do the least good.” - -I didn’t think it would either, but I protested in duty bound. After -all, it couldn’t do any harm, and one must stick up for the tools of -one’s trade. - -“I don’t believe in all these drugs,” said Miss Russell, her eyes -sweeping over my array of bottles disparagingly. “Drugs do a lot of -harm. Look at the cocaine habit.” - -“Well, as far as that goes——” - -“It’s very prevalent in high society.” - -I’m sure Miss Russell knows far more about high society than I do. I -didn’t attempt to argue with her. - -“Just tell me this, doctor,” said Miss Russell. “Suppose you are really -a slave of the drug habit. Is there any cure?” - -One cannot answer a question like that offhand. I gave her a short -lecture on the subject, and she listened with close attention. I still -suspected her of seeking information about Mrs. Ferrars. - -“Now, veronal, for instance——” I proceeded. - -But, strangely enough, she didn’t seem interested in veronal. Instead -she changed the subject, and asked me if it was true that there were -certain poisons so rare as to baffle detection. - -“Ah!” I said. “You’ve been reading detective stories.” - -She admitted that she had. - -“The essence of a detective story,” I said, “is to have a rare -poison—if possible something from South America, that nobody has ever -heard of—something that one obscure tribe of savages use to poison -their arrows with. Death is instantaneous, and Western science is -powerless to detect it. That is the kind of thing you mean?” - -“Yes. Is there really such a thing?” - -I shook my head regretfully. - -“I’m afraid there isn’t. There’s _curare_, of course.” - -I told her a good deal about curare, but she seemed to have lost -interest once more. She asked me if I had any in my poison cupboard, -and when I replied in the negative I fancy I fell in her estimation. - -She said she must be getting back, and I saw her out at the surgery -door just as the luncheon gong went. - -I should never have suspected Miss Russell of a fondness for detective -stories. It pleases me very much to think of her stepping out of the -housekeeper’s room to rebuke a delinquent housemaid, and then returning -to a comfortable perusal of _The Mystery of the Seventh Death_, or -something of the kind. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS - - -I told Caroline at lunch time that I should be dining at Fernly. She -expressed no objection—on the contrary—— - -“Excellent,” she said. “You’ll hear all about it. By the way, what is -the trouble with Ralph?” - -“With Ralph?” I said, surprised; “there’s isn’t any.” - -“Then why is he staying at the Three Boars instead of at Fernly Park?” - -I did not for a minute question Caroline’s statement that Ralph Paton -was staying at the local inn. That Caroline said so was enough for me. - -“Ackroyd told me he was in London,” I said. In the surprise of -the moment I departed from my valuable rule of never parting with -information. - -“Oh!” said Caroline. I could see her nose twitching as she worked on -this. - -“He arrived at the Three Boars yesterday morning,” she said. “And he’s -still there. Last night he was out with a girl.” - -That did not surprise me in the least. Ralph, I should say, is out -with a girl most nights of his life. But I did rather wonder that he -chose to indulge in the pastime in King’s Abbot instead of in the gay -metropolis. - -“One of the barmaids?” I asked. - -“No. That’s just it. He went out to meet her. I don’t know who she is.” - -(Bitter for Caroline to have to admit such a thing.) - -“But I can guess,” continued my indefatigable sister. - -I waited patiently. - -“His cousin.” - -“Flora Ackroyd?” I exclaimed in surprise. - -Flora Ackroyd is, of course, no relation whatever really to Ralph -Paton, but Ralph has been looked upon for so long as practically -Ackroyd’s own son, that cousinship is taken for granted. - -“Flora Ackroyd,” said my sister. - -“But why not go to Fernly if he wanted to see her?” - -“Secretly engaged,” said Caroline, with immense enjoyment. “Old Ackroyd -won’t hear of it, and they have to meet this way.” - -I saw a good many flaws in Caroline’s theory, but I forbore to point -them out to her. An innocent remark about our new neighbor created a -diversion. - -The house next door, The Larches, has recently been taken by a -stranger. To Caroline’s extreme annoyance, she has not been able -to find out anything about him, except that he is a foreigner. The -Intelligence Corps has proved a broken reed. Presumably the man has -milk and vegetables and joints of meat and occasional whitings just -like everybody else, but none of the people who make it their business -to supply these things seem to have acquired any information. His name, -apparently, is Mr. Porrott—a name which conveys an odd feeling of -unreality. The one thing we do know about him is that he is interested -in the growing of vegetable marrows. - -But that is certainly not the sort of information that Caroline is -after. She wants to know where he comes from, what he does, whether he -is married, what his wife was, or is, like, whether he has children, -what his mother’s maiden name was—and so on. Somebody very like -Caroline must have invented the questions on passports, I think. - -“My dear Caroline,” I said. “There’s no doubt at all about what the -man’s profession has been. He’s a retired hairdresser. Look at that -mustache of his.” - -Caroline dissented. She said that if the man was a hairdresser, he -would have wavy hair—not straight. All hairdressers did. - -I cited several hairdressers personally known to me who had straight -hair, but Caroline refused to be convinced. - -“I can’t make him out at all,” she said in an aggrieved voice. “I -borrowed some garden tools the other day, and he was most polite, but -I couldn’t get anything out of him. I asked him point blank at last -whether he was a Frenchman, and he said he wasn’t—and somehow I didn’t -like to ask him any more.” - -I began to be more interested in our mysterious neighbor. A man who -is capable of shutting up Caroline and sending her, like the Queen of -Sheba, empty away must be something of a personality. - -“I believe,” said Caroline, “that he’s got one of those new vacuum -cleaners——” - -I saw a meditated loan and the opportunity of further questioning -gleaming from her eye. I seized the chance to escape into the garden. -I am rather fond of gardening. I was busily exterminating dandelion -roots when a shout of warning sounded from close by and a heavy body -whizzed by my ear and fell at my feet with a repellant squelch. It was -a vegetable marrow! - -I looked up angrily. Over the wall, to my left, there appeared a face. -An egg-shaped head, partially covered with suspiciously black hair, two -immense mustaches, and a pair of watchful eyes. It was our mysterious -neighbor, Mr. Porrott. - -He broke at once into fluent apologies. - -“I demand of you a thousand pardons, monsieur. I am without defense. -For some months now I cultivate the marrows. This morning suddenly -I enrage myself with these marrows. I send them to promenade -themselves—alas! not only mentally but physically. I seize the biggest. -I hurl him over the wall. Monsieur, I am ashamed. I prostrate myself.” - -Before such profuse apologies, my anger was forced to melt. After -all, the wretched vegetable hadn’t hit me. But I sincerely hoped that -throwing large vegetables over walls was not our new friend’s hobby. -Such a habit could hardly endear him to us as a neighbor. - -The strange little man seemed to read my thoughts. - -“Ah! no,” he exclaimed. “Do not disquiet yourself. It is not with me a -habit. But can you figure to yourself, monsieur, that a man may work -towards a certain object, may labor and toil to attain a certain kind -of leisure and occupation, and then find that, after all, he yearns -for the old busy days, and the old occupations that he thought himself -so glad to leave?” - -“Yes,” I said slowly. “I fancy that that is a common enough occurrence. -I myself am perhaps an instance. A year ago I came into a legacy—enough -to enable me to realize a dream. I have always wanted to travel, to see -the world. Well, that was a year ago, as I said, and—I am still here.” - -My little neighbor nodded. - -“The chains of habit. We work to attain an object, and the object -gained, we find that what we miss is the daily toil. And mark you, -monsieur, my work was interesting work. The most interesting work there -is in the world.” - -“Yes?” I said encouragingly. For the moment the spirit of Caroline was -strong within me. - -“The study of human nature, monsieur!” - -“Just so,” I said kindly. - -Clearly a retired hairdresser. Who knows the secrets of human nature -better than a hairdresser? - -“Also, I had a friend—a friend who for many years never left my side. -Occasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he was -very dear to me. Figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity. -His _naïveté_, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting and -surprising him by my superior gifts—all these I miss more than I can -tell you.” - -“He died?” I asked sympathetically. - -“Not so. He lives and flourishes—but on the other side of the world. He -is now in the Argentine.” - -“In the Argentine,” I said enviously. - -I have always wanted to go to South America. I sighed, and then -looked up to find Mr. Porrott eyeing me sympathetically. He seemed an -understanding little man. - -“You will go there, yes?” he asked. - -I shook my head with a sigh. - -“I could have gone,” I said, “a year ago. But I was foolish—and worse -than foolish—greedy. I risked the substance for the shadow.” - -“I comprehend,” said Mr. Porrott. “You speculated?” - -I nodded mournfully, but in spite of myself I felt secretly -entertained. This ridiculous little man was so portentously solemn. - -“Not the Porcupine Oilfields?” he asked suddenly. - -I stared. - -“I thought of them, as a matter of fact, but in the end I plumped for a -gold mine in Western Australia.” - -My neighbor was regarding me with a strange expression which I could -not fathom. - -“It is Fate,” he said at last. - -“What is Fate?” I asked irritably. - -“That I should live next to a man who seriously considers Porcupine -Oilfields, and also West Australian Gold Mines. Tell me, have you also -a penchant for auburn hair?” - -I stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing. - -“No, no, it is not the insanity that I suffer from. Make your mind -easy. It was a foolish question that I put to you there, for, see you, -my friend of whom I spoke was a young man, a man who thought all women -good, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, a -doctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in this -life of ours. Well, well, we are neighbors. I beg of you to accept and -present to your excellent sister my best marrow.” - -He stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of the -tribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered. - -“Indeed,” said the little man cheerfully, “this has not been a wasted -morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways -resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a -question. You doubtless know every one in this tiny village. Who is the -young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. He -walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?” - -The description left me in no doubt. - -“That must be Captain Ralph Paton,” I said slowly. - -“I have not seen him about here before?” - -“No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son—adopted son, -rather—of Mr. Ackroyd of Fernly Park.” - -My neighbor made a slight gesture of impatience. - -“Of course, I should have guessed. Mr. Ackroyd spoke of him many times.” - -“You know Mr. Ackroyd?” I said, slightly surprised. - -“Mr. Ackroyd knew me in London—when I was at work there. I have asked -him to say nothing of my profession down here.” - -“I see,” I said, rather amused by this patent snobbery, as I thought it. - -But the little man went on with an almost grandiloquent smirk. - -“One prefers to remain incognito. I am not anxious for notoriety. I -have not even troubled to correct the local version of my name.” - -“Indeed,” I said, not knowing quite what to say. - -“Captain Ralph Paton,” mused Mr. Porrott. “And so he is engaged to Mr. -Ackroyd’s niece, the charming Miss Flora.” - -“Who told you so?” I asked, very much surprised. - -“Mr. Ackroyd. About a week ago. He is very pleased about it—has long -desired that such a thing should come to pass, or so I understood -from him. I even believe that he brought some pressure to bear upon -the young man. That is never wise. A young man should marry to please -himself—not to please a stepfather from whom he has expectations.” - -My ideas were completely upset. I could not see Ackroyd taking a -hairdresser into his confidence, and discussing the marriage of his -niece and stepson with him. Ackroyd extends a genial patronage to the -lower orders, but he has a very great sense of his own dignity. I began -to think that Porrott couldn’t be a hairdresser after all. - -To hide my confusion, I said the first thing that came into my head. - -“What made you notice Ralph Paton? His good looks?” - -“No, not that alone—though he is unusually good-looking for an -Englishman—what your lady novelists would call a Greek God. No, there -was something about that young man that I did not understand.” - -He said the last sentence in a musing tone of voice which made an -indefinable impression upon me. It was as though he was summing up the -boy by the light of some inner knowledge that I did not share. It was -that impression that was left with me, for at that moment my sister’s -voice called me from the house. - -I went in. Caroline had her hat on, and had evidently just come in from -the village. She began without preamble. - -“I met Mr. Ackroyd.” - -“Yes?” I said. - -“I stopped him, of course, but he seemed in a great hurry, and anxious -to get away.” - -I have no doubt but that that was the case. He would feel towards -Caroline much as he had felt towards Miss Ganett earlier in the -day—perhaps more so. Caroline is less easy to shake off. - -“I asked him at once about Ralph. He was absolutely astonished. Had no -idea the boy was down here. He actually said he thought I must have -made a mistake. I! A mistake!” - -“Ridiculous,” I said. “He ought to have known you better.” - -“Then he went on to tell me that Ralph and Flora are engaged.” - -“I know that too,” I interrupted, with modest pride. - -“Who told you?” - -“Our new neighbor.” - -Caroline visibly wavered for a second or two, much as a roulette ball -might coyly hover between two numbers. Then she declined the tempting -red herring. - -“I told Mr. Ackroyd that Ralph was staying at the Three Boars.” - -“Caroline,” I said, “do you never reflect that you might do a lot of -harm with this habit of yours of repeating everything indiscriminately?” - -“Nonsense,” said my sister. “People ought to know things. I consider it -my duty to tell them. Mr. Ackroyd was very grateful to me.” - -“Well?” I said, for there was clearly more to come. - -“I think he went straight off to the Three Boars, but if so he didn’t -find Ralph there.” - -“No?” - -“No. Because as I was coming back through the wood——” - -“Coming back through the wood?” I interrupted. - -Caroline had the grace to blush. - -“It was such a lovely day,” she exclaimed. “I thought I would make a -little round. The woods with their autumnal tints are so perfect at -this time of year.” - -Caroline does not care a hang for woods at any time of year. Normally -she regards them as places where you get your feet damp, and where all -kinds of unpleasant things may drop on your head. No, it was good sound -mongoose instinct which took her to our local wood. It is the only -place adjacent to the village of King’s Abbot where you can talk with -a young woman unseen by the whole of the village. It adjoins the Park -of Fernly. - -“Well,” I said, “go on.” - -“As I say, I was just coming back through the wood when I heard voices.” - -Caroline paused. - -“Yes?” - -“One was Ralph Paton’s—I knew it at once. The other was a girl’s. Of -course I didn’t mean to listen——” - -“Of course not,” I interjected, with patent sarcasm—which was, however, -wasted on Caroline. - -“But I simply couldn’t help overhearing. The girl said something—I -didn’t quite catch what it was, and Ralph answered. He sounded very -angry. ‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘Don’t you realize that it is quite -on the cards the old man will cut me off with a shilling? He’s been -pretty fed up with me for the last few years. A little more would do -it. And we need the dibs, my dear. I shall be a very rich man when -the old fellow pops off. He’s mean as they make ’em, but he’s rolling -in money really. I don’t want him to go altering his will. You leave -it to me, and don’t worry.’ Those were his exact words. I remember -them perfectly. Unfortunately, just then I stepped on a dry twig or -something, and they lowered their voices and moved away. I couldn’t, of -course, go rushing after them, so wasn’t able to see who the girl was.” - -“That must have been most vexing,” I said. “I suppose, though, you -hurried on to the Three Boars, felt faint, and went into the bar for a -glass of brandy, and so were able to see if both the barmaids were on -duty?” - -“It wasn’t a barmaid,” said Caroline unhesitatingly. “In fact, I’m -almost sure that it was Flora Ackroyd, only——” - -“Only it doesn’t seem to make sense,” I agreed. - -“But if it wasn’t Flora, who could it have been?” - -Rapidly my sister ran over a list of maidens living in the -neighborhood, with profuse reasons for and against. - -When she paused for breath, I murmured something about a patient, and -slipped out. - -I proposed to make my way to the Three Boars. It seemed likely that -Ralph Paton would have returned there by now. - -I knew Ralph very well—better, perhaps, than any one else in King’s -Abbot, for I had known his mother before him, and therefore I -understood much in him that puzzled others. He was, to a certain -extent, the victim of heredity. He had not inherited his mother’s -fatal propensity for drink, but nevertheless he had in him a strain -of weakness. As my new friend of this morning had declared, he was -extraordinarily handsome. Just on six feet, perfectly proportioned, -with the easy grace of an athlete, he was dark, like his mother, -with a handsome, sunburnt face always ready to break into a smile. -Ralph Paton was of those born to charm easily and without effort. He -was self-indulgent and extravagant, with no veneration for anything -on earth, but he was lovable nevertheless, and his friends were all -devoted to him. - -Could I do anything with the boy? I thought I could. - -On inquiry at the Three Boars I found that Captain Paton had just come -in. I went up to his room and entered unannounced. - -For a moment, remembering what I had heard and seen, I was doubtful of -my reception, but I need have had no misgivings. - -“Why, it’s Sheppard! Glad to see you.” - -He came forward to meet me, hand outstretched, a sunny smile lighting -up his face. - -“The one person I am glad to see in this infernal place.” - -I raised my eyebrows. - -“What’s the place been doing?” - -He gave a vexed laugh. - -“It’s a long story. Things haven’t been going well with me, doctor. But -have a drink, won’t you?” - -“Thanks,” I said, “I will.” - -He pressed the bell, then, coming back, threw himself into a chair. - -“Not to mince matters,” he said gloomily, “I’m in the devil of a mess. -In fact, I haven’t the least idea what to do next.” - -“What’s the matter?” I asked sympathetically. - -“It’s my confounded stepfather.” - -“What has he done?” - -“It isn’t what he’s done yet, but what he’s likely to do.” - -The bell was answered, and Ralph ordered the drinks. When the man had -gone again, he sat hunched in the arm-chair, frowning to himself. - -“Is it really—serious?” I asked. - -He nodded. - -“I’m fairly up against it this time,” he said soberly. - -The unusual ring of gravity in his voice told me that he spoke the -truth. It took a good deal to make Ralph grave. - -“In fact,” he continued, “I can’t see my way ahead.... I’m damned if I -can.” - -“If I could help——” I suggested diffidently. - -But he shook his head very decidedly. - -“Good of you, doctor. But I can’t let you in on this. I’ve got to play -a lone hand.” - -He was silent a minute and then repeated in a slightly different tone -of voice:— - -“Yes—I’ve got to play a lone hand....” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - DINNER AT FERNLY - - -It was just a few minutes before half-past seven when I rang the -front door bell of Fernly Park. The door was opened with admirable -promptitude by Parker, the butler. - -The night was such a fine one that I had preferred to come on foot. I -stepped into the big square hall and Parker relieved me of my overcoat. -Just then Ackroyd’s secretary, a pleasant young fellow by the name of -Raymond, passed through the hall on his way to Ackroyd’s study, his -hands full of papers. - -“Good-evening, doctor. Coming to dine? Or is this a professional call?” - -The last was in allusion to my black bag, which I had laid down on the -oak chest. - -I explained that I expected a summons to a confinement case at any -moment, and so had come out prepared for an emergency call. Raymond -nodded, and went on his way, calling over his shoulder:— - -“Go into the drawing-room. You know the way. The ladies will be down in -a minute. I must just take these papers to Mr. Ackroyd, and I’ll tell -him you’re here.” - -On Raymond’s appearance Parker had withdrawn, so I was alone in the -hall. I settled my tie, glanced in a large mirror which hung there, and -crossed to the door directly facing me, which was, as I knew, the door -of the drawing-room. - -I noticed, just as I was turning the handle, a sound from within—the -shutting down of a window, I took it to be. I noted it, I may say, -quite mechanically, without attaching any importance to it at the time. - -I opened the door and walked in. As I did so, I almost collided with -Miss Russell, who was just coming out. We both apologized. - -For the first time I found myself appraising the housekeeper and -thinking what a handsome woman she must once have been—indeed, as far -as that goes, still was. Her dark hair was unstreaked with gray, and -when she had a color, as she had at this minute, the stern quality of -her looks was not so apparent. - -Quite subconsciously I wondered whether she had been out, for she was -breathing hard, as though she had been running. - -“I’m afraid I’m a few minutes early,” I said. - -“Oh! I don’t think so. It’s gone half-past seven, Dr. Sheppard.” She -paused a minute before saying, “I—didn’t know you were expected to -dinner to-night. Mr. Ackroyd didn’t mention it.” - -I received a vague impression that my dining there displeased her in -some way, but I couldn’t imagine why. - -“How’s the knee?” I inquired. - -“Much the same, thank you, doctor. I must be going now. Mrs. Ackroyd -will be down in a moment. I—I only came in here to see if the flowers -were all right.” - -She passed quickly out of the room. I strolled to the window, -wondering at her evident desire to justify her presence in the room. As -I did so, I saw what, of course, I might have known all the time had -I troubled to give my mind to it, namely, that the windows were long -French ones opening on the terrace. The sound I had heard, therefore, -could not have been that of a window being shut down. - -Quite idly, and more to distract my mind from painful thoughts than for -any other reason, I amused myself by trying to guess what could have -caused the sound in question. - -Coals on the fire? No, that was not the kind of noise at all. A drawer -of the bureau pushed in? No, not that. - -Then my eye was caught by what, I believe, is called a silver table, -the lid of which lifts, and through the glass of which you can see the -contents. I crossed over to it, studying the things. There were one -or two pieces of old silver, a baby shoe belonging to King Charles -the First, some Chinese jade figures, and quite a number of African -implements and curios. Wanting to examine one of the jade figures more -closely, I lifted the lid. It slipped through my fingers and fell. - -At once I recognized the sound I had heard. It was this same table lid -being shut down gently and carefully. I repeated the action once or -twice for my own satisfaction. Then I lifted the lid to scrutinize the -contents more closely. - -I was still bending over the open silver table when Flora Ackroyd came -into the room. - -Quite a lot of people do not like Flora Ackroyd, but nobody can help -admiring her. And to her friends she can be very charming. The first -thing that strikes you about her is her extraordinary fairness. She has -the real Scandinavian pale gold hair. Her eyes are blue—blue as the -waters of a Norwegian fiord, and her skin is cream and roses. She has -square, boyish shoulders and slight hips. And to a jaded medical man it -is very refreshing to come across such perfect health. - -A simple straight-forward English girl—I may be old-fashioned, but I -think the genuine article takes a lot of beating. - -Flora joined me by the silver table, and expressed heretical doubts as -to King Charles I ever having worn the baby shoe. - -“And anyway,” continued Miss Flora, “all this making a fuss about -things because some one wore or used them seems to me all nonsense. -They’re not wearing or using them now. The pen that George Eliot wrote -_The Mill on the Floss_ with—that sort of thing—well, it’s only just a -pen after all. If you’re really keen on George Eliot, why not get _The -Mill on the Floss_ in a cheap edition and read it.” - -“I suppose you never read such old out-of-date stuff, Miss Flora?” - -“You’re wrong, Dr. Sheppard. I love _The Mill on the Floss_.” - -I was rather pleased to hear it. The things young women read nowadays -and profess to enjoy positively frighten me. - -“You haven’t congratulated me yet, Dr. Sheppard,” said Flora. “Haven’t -you heard?” - -She held out her left hand. On the third finger of it was an -exquisitely set single pearl. - -“I’m going to marry Ralph, you know,” she went on. “Uncle is very -pleased. It keeps me in the family, you see.” - -I took both her hands in mine. - -“My dear,” I said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.” - -“We’ve been engaged for about a month,” continued Flora in her cool -voice, “but it was only announced yesterday. Uncle is going to do up -Cross-stones, and give it to us to live in, and we’re going to pretend -to farm. Really, we shall hunt all the winter, town for the season, and -then go yachting. I love the sea. And, of course, I shall take a great -interest in the parish affairs, and attend all the Mothers’ Meetings.” - -Just then Mrs. Ackroyd rustled in, full of apologies for being late. - -I am sorry to say I detest Mrs. Ackroyd. She is all chains and teeth -and bones. A most unpleasant woman. She has small pale flinty blue -eyes, and however gushing her words may be, those eyes of hers always -remain coldly speculative. - -I went across to her, leaving Flora by the window. She gave me a -handful of assorted knuckles and rings to squeeze, and began talking -volubly. - -Had I heard about Flora’s engagement? So suitable in every way. The -dear young things had fallen in love at first sight. Such a perfect -pair, he so dark and she so fair. - -“I can’t tell you, my dear Dr. Sheppard, the relief to a mother’s -heart.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd sighed—a tribute to her mother’s heart, whilst her eyes -remained shrewdly observant of me. - -“I was wondering. You are such an old friend of dear Roger’s. We -know how much he trusts to your judgment. So difficult for me—in -my position, as poor Cecil’s widow. But there are so many tiresome -things—settlements, you know—all that. I fully believe that Roger -intends to make settlements upon dear Flora, but, as you know, he is -just a _leetle_ peculiar about money. Very usual, I’ve heard, amongst -men who are captains of industry. I wondered, you know, if you could -just _sound_ him on the subject? Flora is so fond of you. We feel you -are quite an old friend, although we have only really known you just -over two years.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd’s eloquence was cut short as the drawing-room door opened -once more. I was pleased at the interruption. I hate interfering in -other people’s affairs, and I had not the least intention of tackling -Ackroyd on the subject of Flora’s settlements. In another moment I -should have been forced to tell Mrs. Ackroyd as much. - -“You know Major Blunt, don’t you, doctor?” - -“Yes, indeed,” I said. - -A lot of people know Hector Blunt—at least by repute. He has shot more -wild animals in unlikely places than any man living, I suppose. When -you mention him, people say: “Blunt—you don’t mean the big game man, do -you?” - -His friendship with Ackroyd has always puzzled me a little. The two men -are so totally dissimilar. Hector Blunt is perhaps five years Ackroyd’s -junior. They made friends early in life, and though their ways have -diverged, the friendship still holds. About once in two years Blunt -spends a fortnight at Fernly, and an immense animal’s head, with an -amazing number of horns which fixes you with a glazed stare as soon -as you come inside the front door, is a permanent reminder of the -friendship. - -Blunt had entered the room now with his own peculiar, deliberate, yet -soft-footed tread. He is a man of medium height, sturdily and rather -stockily built. His face is almost mahogany-colored, and is peculiarly -expressionless. He has gray eyes that give the impression of always -watching something that is happening very far away. He talks little, -and what he does say is said jerkily, as though the words were forced -out of him unwillingly. - -He said now: “How are you, Sheppard?” in his usual abrupt fashion, and -then stood squarely in front of the fireplace looking over our heads as -though he saw something very interesting happening in Timbuctoo. - -“Major Blunt,” said Flora, “I wish you’d tell me about these African -things. I’m sure you know what they all are.” - -I have heard Hector Blunt described as a woman hater, but I noticed -that he joined Flora at the silver table with what might be described -as alacrity. They bent over it together. - -I was afraid Mrs. Ackroyd would begin talking about settlements again, -so I made a few hurried remarks about the new sweet pea. I knew there -was a new sweet pea because the _Daily Mail_ had told me so that -morning. Mrs. Ackroyd knows nothing about horticulture, but she is the -kind of woman who likes to appear well-informed about the topics of the -day, and she, too, reads the _Daily Mail_. We were able to converse -quite intelligently until Ackroyd and his secretary joined us, and -immediately afterwards Parker announced dinner. - -My place at table was between Mrs. Ackroyd and Flora. Blunt was on Mrs. -Ackroyd’s other side, and Geoffrey Raymond next to him. - -Dinner was not a cheerful affair. Ackroyd was visibly preoccupied. He -looked wretched, and ate next to nothing. Mrs. Ackroyd, Raymond, and -I kept the conversation going. Flora seemed affected by her uncle’s -depression, and Blunt relapsed into his usual taciturnity. - -Immediately after dinner Ackroyd slipped his arm through mine and led -me off to his study. - -“Once we’ve had coffee, we shan’t be disturbed again,” he explained. “I -told Raymond to see to it that we shouldn’t be interrupted.” - -I studied him quietly without appearing to do so. He was clearly under -the influence of some strong excitement. For a minute or two he paced -up and down the room, then, as Parker entered with the coffee tray, he -sank into an arm-chair in front of the fire. - -The study was a comfortable apartment. Book-shelves lined one wall of -it. The chairs were big and covered in dark blue leather. A large desk -stood by the window and was covered with papers neatly docketed and -filed. On a round table were various magazines and sporting papers. - -“I’ve had a return of that pain after food lately,” remarked Ackroyd -casually, as he helped himself to coffee. “You must give me some more -of those tablets of yours.” - -It struck me that he was anxious to convey the impression that our -conference was a medical one. I played up accordingly. - -“I thought as much. I brought some up with me.” - -“Good man. Hand them over now.” - -“They’re in my bag in the hall. I’ll get them.” - -Ackroyd arrested me. - -“Don’t you trouble. Parker will get them. Bring in the doctor’s bag, -will you, Parker?” - -“Very good, sir.” - -Parker withdrew. As I was about to speak, Ackroyd threw up his hand. - -“Not yet. Wait. Don’t you see I’m in such a state of nerves that I can -hardly contain myself?” - -I saw that plainly enough. And I was very uneasy. All sorts of -forebodings assailed me. - -Ackroyd spoke again almost immediately. - -“Make certain that window’s closed, will you?” he asked. - -Somewhat surprised, I got up and went to it. It was not a French -window, but one of the ordinary sash type. The heavy blue velvet -curtains were drawn in front of it, but the window itself was open at -the top. - -Parker reëntered the room with my bag while I was still at the window. - -“That’s all right,” I said, emerging again into the room. - -“You’ve put the latch across?” - -“Yes, yes. What’s the matter with you, Ackroyd?” - -The door had just closed behind Parker, or I would not have put the -question. - -Ackroyd waited just a minute before replying. - -“I’m in hell,” he said slowly, after a minute. “No, don’t bother with -those damned tablets. I only said that for Parker. Servants are so -curious. Come here and sit down. The door’s closed too, isn’t it?” - -“Yes. Nobody can overhear; don’t be uneasy.” - -“Sheppard, nobody knows what I’ve gone through in the last twenty-four -hours. If a man’s house ever fell in ruins about him, mine has about -me. This business of Ralph’s is the last straw. But we won’t talk about -that now. It’s the other—the other——! I don’t know what to do about it. -And I’ve got to make up my mind soon.” - -“What’s the trouble?” - -Ackroyd remained silent for a minute or two. He seemed curiously averse -to begin. When he did speak, the question he asked came as a complete -surprise. It was the last thing I expected. - -“Sheppard, you attended Ashley Ferrars in his last illness, didn’t you?” - -“Yes, I did.” - -He seemed to find even greater difficulty in framing his next question. - -“Did you never suspect—did it ever enter your head—that—well, that he -might have been poisoned?” - -I was silent for a minute or two. Then I made up my mind what to say. -Roger Ackroyd was not Caroline. - -“I’ll tell you the truth,” I said. “At the time I had no suspicion -whatever, but since—well, it was mere idle talk on my sister’s part -that first put the idea into my head. Since then I haven’t been able to -get it out again. But, mind you, I’ve no foundation whatever for that -suspicion.” - -“He _was_ poisoned,” said Ackroyd. - -He spoke in a dull heavy voice. - -“Who by?” I asked sharply. - -“His wife.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“She told me so herself.” - -“When?” - -“Yesterday! My God! yesterday! It seems ten years ago.” - -I waited a minute, and then he went on. - -“You understand, Sheppard, I’m telling you this in confidence. It’s to -go no further. I want your advice—I can’t carry the whole weight by -myself. As I said just now, I don’t know what to do.” - -“Can you tell me the whole story?” I said. “I’m still in the dark. How -did Mrs. Ferrars come to make this confession to you?” - -“It’s like this. Three months ago I asked Mrs. Ferrars to marry me. -She refused. I asked her again and she consented, but she refused to -allow me to make the engagement public until her year of mourning was -up. Yesterday I called upon her, pointed out that a year and three -weeks had now elapsed since her husband’s death, and that there could -be no further objection to making the engagement public property. I -had noticed that she had been very strange in her manner for some days. -Now, suddenly, without the least warning, she broke down completely. -She—she told me everything. Her hatred of her brute of a husband, her -growing love for me, and the—the dreadful means she had taken. Poison! -My God! It was murder in cold blood.” - -I saw the repulsion, the horror, in Ackroyd’s face. So Mrs. Ferrars -must have seen it. Ackroyd is not the type of the great lover who can -forgive all for love’s sake. He is fundamentally a good citizen. All -that was sound and wholesome and law-abiding in him must have turned -from her utterly in that moment of revelation. - -“Yes,” he went on, in a low, monotonous voice, “she confessed -everything. It seems that there is one person who has known all -along—who has been blackmailing her for huge sums. It was the strain of -that that drove her nearly mad.” - -“Who was the man?” - -Suddenly before my eyes there arose the picture of Ralph Paton and Mrs. -Ferrars side by side. Their heads so close together. I felt a momentary -throb of anxiety. Supposing—oh! but surely that was impossible. I -remembered the frankness of Ralph’s greeting that very afternoon. -Absurd! - -“She wouldn’t tell me his name,” said Ackroyd slowly. “As a matter of -fact, she didn’t actually say that it was a man. But of course——” - -“Of course,” I agreed. “It must have been a man. And you’ve no -suspicion at all?” - -For answer Ackroyd groaned and dropped his head into his hands. - -“It can’t be,” he said. “I’m mad even to think of such a thing. No, I -won’t even admit to you the wild suspicion that crossed my mind. I’ll -tell you this much, though. Something she said made me think that the -person in question might be actually among my household—but that can’t -be so. I must have misunderstood her.” - -“What did you say to her?” I asked. - -“What could I say? She saw, of course, the awful shock it had been to -me. And then there was the question, what was my duty in the matter? -She had made me, you see, an accessory after the fact. She saw all -that, I think, quicker than I did. I was stunned, you know. She asked -me for twenty-four hours—made me promise to do nothing till the end -of that time. And she steadfastly refused to give me the name of the -scoundrel who had been blackmailing her. I suppose she was afraid that -I might go straight off and hammer him, and then the fat would have -been in the fire as far as she was concerned. She told me that I should -hear from her before twenty-four hours had passed. My God! I swear to -you, Sheppard, that it never entered my head what she meant to do. -Suicide! And I drove her to it.” - -“No, no,” I said. “Don’t take an exaggerated view of things. The -responsibility for her death doesn’t lie at your door.” - -“The question is, what am I to do now? The poor lady is dead. Why rake -up past trouble?” - -“I rather agree with you,” I said. - -“But there’s another point. How am I to get hold of that scoundrel who -drove her to death as surely as if he’d killed her. He knew of the -first crime, and he fastened on to it like some obscene vulture. She’s -paid the penalty. Is he to go scot-free?” - -“I see,” I said slowly. “You want to hunt him down? It will mean a lot -of publicity, you know.” - -“Yes, I’ve thought of that. I’ve zigzagged to and fro in my mind.” - -“I agree with you that the villain ought to be punished, but the cost -has got to be reckoned.” - -Ackroyd rose and walked up and down. Presently he sank into the chair -again. - -“Look here, Sheppard, suppose we leave it like this. If no word comes -from her, we’ll let the dead things lie.” - -“What do you mean by word coming from her?” I asked curiously. - -“I have the strongest impression that somewhere or somehow she must -have left a message for me—before she went. I can’t argue about it, but -there it is.” - -I shook my head. - -“She left no letter or word of any kind. I asked.” - -“Sheppard, I’m convinced that she did. And more, I’ve a feeling that by -deliberately choosing death, she wanted the whole thing to come out, if -only to be revenged on the man who drove her to desperation. I believe -that if I could have seen her then, she would have told me his name and -bid me go for him for all I was worth.” - -He looked at me. - -“You don’t believe in impressions?” - -“Oh, yes, I do, in a sense. If, as you put it, word should come from -her——” - -I broke off. The door opened noiselessly and Parker entered with a -salver on which were some letters. - -“The evening post, sir,” he said, handing the salver to Ackroyd. - -Then he collected the coffee cups and withdrew. - -My attention, diverted for a moment, came back to Ackroyd. He was -staring like a man turned to stone at a long blue envelope. The other -letters he had let drop to the ground. - -“_Her writing_,” he said in a whisper. “She must have gone out and -posted it last night, just before—before——” - -He ripped open the envelope and drew out a thick enclosure. Then he -looked up sharply. - -“You’re sure you shut the window?” he said. - -“Quite sure,” I said, surprised. “Why?” - -“All this evening I’ve had a queer feeling of being watched, spied -upon. What’s that——?” - -He turned sharply. So did I. We both had the impression of hearing the -latch of the door give ever so slightly. I went across to it and opened -it. There was no one there. - -“Nerves,” murmured Ackroyd to himself. - -He unfolded the thick sheets of paper, and read aloud in a low voice. - - “_My dear, my very dear Roger,—A life calls for a life. I see - that—I saw it in your face this afternoon. So I am taking the only - road open to me. I leave to you the punishment of the person who - has made my life a hell upon earth for the last year. I would not - tell you the name this afternoon, but I propose to write it to you - now. I have no children or near relations to be spared, so do not - fear publicity. If you can, Roger, my very dear Roger, forgive me - the wrong I meant to do you, since when the time came, I could not - do it after all...._” - -Ackroyd, his finger on the sheet to turn it over, paused. - -“Sheppard, forgive me, but I must read this alone,” he said unsteadily. -“It was meant for my eyes, and my eyes only.” - -He put the letter in the envelope and laid it on the table. - -“Later, when I am alone.” - -“No,” I cried impulsively, “read it now.” - -Ackroyd stared at me in some surprise. - -“I beg your pardon,” I said, reddening. “I do not mean read it aloud to -me. But read it through whilst I am still here.” - -Ackroyd shook his head. - -“No, I’d rather wait.” - -But for some reason, obscure to myself, I continued to urge him. - -“At least, read the name of the man,” I said. - -Now Ackroyd is essentially pig-headed. The more you urge him to do a -thing, the more determined he is not to do it. All my arguments were in -vain. - -The letter had been brought in at twenty minutes to nine. It was just -on ten minutes to nine when I left him, the letter still unread. I -hesitated with my hand on the door handle, looking back and wondering -if there was anything I had left undone. I could think of nothing. With -a shake of the head I passed out and closed the door behind me. - -I was startled by seeing the figure of Parker close at hand. He looked -embarrassed, and it occurred to me that he might have been listening at -the door. - -What a fat, smug, oily face the man had, and surely there was something -decidedly shifty in his eye. - -“Mr. Ackroyd particularly does not want to be disturbed,” I said -coldly. “He told me to tell you so.” - -“Quite so, sir. I—I fancied I heard the bell ring.” - -This was such a palpable untruth that I did not trouble to reply. -Preceding me to the hall, Parker helped me on with my overcoat, and I -stepped out into the night. The moon was overcast and everything seemed -very dark and still. The village church clock chimed nine o’clock -as I passed through the lodge gates. I turned to the left towards -the village, and almost cannoned into a man coming in the opposite -direction. - -“This the way to Fernly Park, mister?” asked the stranger in a hoarse -voice. - -I looked at him. He was wearing a hat pulled down over his eyes, and -his coat collar turned up. I could see little or nothing of his face, -but he seemed a young fellow. The voice was rough and uneducated. - -“These are the lodge gates here,” I said. - -“Thank you, mister.” He paused, and then added, quite unnecessarily, -“I’m a stranger in these parts, you see.” - -He went on, passing through the gates as I turned to look after him. - -The odd thing was that his voice reminded me of some one’s voice that I -knew, but whose it was I could not think. - -Ten minutes later I was at home once more. Caroline was full of -curiosity to know why I had returned so early. I had to make up a -slightly fictitious account of the evening in order to satisfy her, and -I had an uneasy feeling that she saw through the transparent device. - -At ten o’clock I rose, yawned, and suggested bed. Caroline acquiesced. - -It was Friday night, and on Friday night I wind the clocks. I did it as -usual, whilst Caroline satisfied herself that the servants had locked -up the kitchen properly. - -It was a quarter past ten as we went up the stairs. I had just reached -the top when the telephone rang in the hall below. - -“Mrs. Bates,” said Caroline immediately. - -“I’m afraid so,” I said ruefully. - -I ran down the stairs and took up the receiver. - -“What?” I said. “_What?_ Certainly, I’ll come at once.” - -I ran upstairs, caught up my bag, and stuffed a few extra dressings -into it. - -“Parker telephoning,” I shouted to Caroline, “from Fernly. They’ve just -found Roger Ackroyd murdered.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - - MURDER - - -I got out the car in next to no time, and drove rapidly to Fernly. -Jumping out, I pulled the bell impatiently. There was some delay in -answering, and I rang again. - -Then I heard the rattle of the chain and Parker, his impassivity of -countenance quite unmoved, stood in the open doorway. - -I pushed past him into the hall. - -“Where is he?” I demanded sharply. - -“I beg your pardon, sir?” - -“Your master. Mr. Ackroyd. Don’t stand there staring at me, man. Have -you notified the police?” - -“The police, sir? Did you say the police?” Parker stared at me as -though I were a ghost. - -“What’s the matter with you, Parker? If, as you say, your master has -been murdered——” - -A gasp broke from Parker. - -“The master? Murdered? Impossible, sir!” - -It was my turn to stare. - -“Didn’t you telephone to me, not five minutes ago, and tell me that Mr. -Ackroyd had been found murdered?” - -“Me, sir? Oh! no indeed, sir. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.” - -“Do you mean to say it’s all a hoax? That there’s nothing the matter -with Mr. Ackroyd?” - -“Excuse me, sir, did the person telephoning use my name?” - -“I’ll give you the exact words I heard. ‘_Is that Dr. Sheppard? Parker, -the butler at Fernly, speaking. Will you please come at once, sir. Mr. -Ackroyd has been murdered._’” - -Parker and I stared at each other blankly. - -“A very wicked joke to play, sir,” he said at last, in a shocked tone. -“Fancy saying a thing like that.” - -“Where is Mr. Ackroyd?” I asked suddenly. - -“Still in the study, I fancy, sir. The ladies have gone to bed, and -Major Blunt and Mr. Raymond are in the billiard room.” - -“I think I’ll just look in and see him for a minute,” I said. “I know -he didn’t want to be disturbed again, but this odd practical joke has -made me uneasy. I’d just like to satisfy myself that he’s all right.” - -“Quite so, sir. It makes me feel quite uneasy myself. If you don’t -object to my accompanying you as far as the door, sir——?” - -“Not at all,” I said. “Come along.” - -I passed through the door on the right, Parker on my heels, traversed -the little lobby where a small flight of stairs led upstairs to -Ackroyd’s bedroom, and tapped on the study door. - -There was no answer. I turned the handle, but the door was locked. - -“Allow me, sir,” said Parker. - -Very nimbly, for a man of his build, he dropped on one knee and applied -his eye to the keyhole. - -“Key is in the lock all right, sir,” he said, rising. “On the inside. -Mr. Ackroyd must have locked himself in and possibly just dropped off -to sleep.” - -I bent down and verified Parker’s statement. - -“It seems all right,” I said, “but, all the same, Parker, I’m going -to wake your master up. I shouldn’t be satisfied to go home without -hearing from his own lips that he’s quite all right.” - -So saying, I rattled the handle and called out, “Ackroyd, Ackroyd, just -a minute.” - -But still there was no answer. I glanced over my shoulder. - -“I don’t want to alarm the household,” I said hesitatingly. - -Parker went across and shut the door from the big hall through which we -had come. - -“I think that will be all right now, sir. The billiard room is at -the other side of the house, and so are the kitchen quarters and the -ladies’ bedrooms.” - -I nodded comprehendingly. Then I banged once more frantically on the -door, and stooping down, fairly bawled through the keyhole:— - -“Ackroyd, Ackroyd! It’s Sheppard. Let me in.” - -And still—silence. Not a sign of life from within the locked room. -Parker and I glanced at each other. - -“Look here, Parker,” I said, “I’m going to break this door in—or -rather, we are. I’ll take the responsibility.” - -“If you say so, sir,” said Parker, rather doubtfully. - -“I do say so. I’m seriously alarmed about Mr. Ackroyd.” - -I looked round the small lobby and picked up a heavy oak chair. Parker -and I held it between us and advanced to the assault. Once, twice, and -three times we hurled it against the lock. At the third blow it gave, -and we staggered into the room. - -Ackroyd was sitting as I had left him in the arm-chair before the fire. -His head had fallen sideways, and clearly visible, just below the -collar of his coat, was a shining piece of twisted metalwork. - -Parker and I advanced till we stood over the recumbent figure. I heard -the butler draw in his breath with a sharp hiss. - -“Stabbed from be’ind,” he murmured. “’Orrible!” - -He wiped his moist brow with his handkerchief, then stretched out a -hand gingerly towards the hilt of the dagger. - -“You mustn’t touch that,” I said sharply. “Go at once to the telephone -and ring up the police station. Inform them of what has happened. Then -tell Mr. Raymond and Major Blunt.” - -“Very good, sir.” - -Parker hurried away, still wiping his perspiring brow. - -I did what little had to be done. I was careful not to disturb the -position of the body, and not to handle the dagger at all. No object -was to be attained by moving it. Ackroyd had clearly been dead some -little time. - -Then I heard young Raymond’s voice, horror-stricken and incredulous, -outside. - -“What do you say? Oh! impossible! Where’s the doctor?” - -He appeared impetuously in the doorway, then stopped dead, his face -very white. A hand put him aside, and Hector Blunt came past him into -the room. - -“My God!” said Raymond from behind him; “it’s true, then.” - -Blunt came straight on till he reached the chair. He bent over the -body, and I thought that, like Parker, he was going to lay hold of the -dagger hilt. I drew him back with one hand. - -“Nothing must be moved,” I explained. “The police must see him exactly -as he is now.” - -Blunt nodded in instant comprehension. His face was expressionless as -ever, but I thought I detected signs of emotion beneath the stolid -mask. Geoffrey Raymond had joined us now, and stood peering over -Blunt’s shoulder at the body. - -“This is terrible,” he said in a low voice. - -He had regained his composure, but as he took off the pince-nez he -habitually wore and polished them I observed that his hand was shaking. - -“Robbery, I suppose,” he said. “How did the fellow get in? Through the -window? Has anything been taken?” - -He went towards the desk. - -“You think it’s burglary?” I said slowly. - -“What else could it be? There’s no question of suicide, I suppose?” - -“No man could stab himself in such a way,” I said confidently. “It’s -murder right enough. But with what motive?” - -“Roger hadn’t an enemy in the world,” said Blunt quietly. “Must have -been burglars. But what was the thief after? Nothing seems to be -disarranged?” - -He looked round the room. Raymond was still sorting the papers on the -desk. - -“There seems nothing missing, and none of the drawers show signs of -having been tampered with,” the secretary observed at last. “It’s very -mysterious.” - -Blunt made a slight motion with his head. - -“There are some letters on the floor here,” he said. - -I looked down. Three or four letters still lay where Ackroyd had -dropped them earlier in the evening. - -But the blue envelope containing Mrs. Ferrars’s letter had disappeared. -I half opened my mouth to speak, but at that moment the sound of a bell -pealed through the house. There was a confused murmur of voices in the -hall, and then Parker appeared with our local inspector and a police -constable. - -“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the inspector. “I’m terribly sorry for -this! A good kind gentleman like Mr. Ackroyd. The butler says it is -murder. No possibility of accident or suicide, doctor?” - -“None whatever,” I said. - -“Ah! A bad business.” - -He came and stood over the body. - -“Been moved at all?” he asked sharply. - -“Beyond making certain that life was extinct—an easy matter—I have not -disturbed the body in any way.” - -“Ah! And everything points to the murderer having got clear away—for -the moment, that is. Now then, let me hear all about it. Who found the -body?” - -I explained the circumstances carefully. - -“A telephone message, you say? From the butler?” - -“A message that I never sent,” declared Parker earnestly. “I’ve not -been near the telephone the whole evening. The others can bear me out -that I haven’t.” - -“Very odd, that. Did it sound like Parker’s voice, doctor?” - -“Well—I can’t say I noticed. I took it for granted, you see.” - -“Naturally. Well, you got up here, broke in the door, and found poor -Mr. Ackroyd like this. How long should you say he had been dead, -doctor?” - -“Half an hour at least—perhaps longer,” I said. - -“The door was locked on the inside, you say? What about the window?” - -“I myself closed and bolted it earlier in the evening at Mr. Ackroyd’s -request.” - -The inspector strode across to it and threw back the curtains. - -“Well, it’s open now anyway,” he remarked. - -True enough, the window was open, the lower sash being raised to its -fullest extent. - -The inspector produced a pocket torch and flashed it along the sill -outside. - -“This is the way he went all right,” he remarked, “_and_ got in. See -here.” - -In the light of the powerful torch, several clearly defined footmarks -could be seen. They seemed to be those of shoes with rubber studs -in the soles. One particularly clear one pointed inwards, another, -slightly overlapping it, pointed outwards. - -“Plain as a pikestaff,” said the inspector. “Any valuables missing?” - -Geoffrey Raymond shook his head. - -“Not so that we can discover. Mr. Ackroyd never kept anything of -particular value in this room.” - -“H’m,” said the inspector. “Man found an open window. Climbed in, saw -Mr. Ackroyd sitting there—maybe he’d fallen asleep. Man stabbed him -from behind, then lost his nerve and made off. But he’s left his tracks -pretty clearly. We ought to get hold of _him_ without much difficulty. -No suspicious strangers been hanging about anywhere?” - -“Oh!” I said suddenly. - -“What is it, doctor?” - -“I met a man this evening—just as I was turning out of the gate. He -asked me the way to Fernly Park.” - -“What time would that be?” - -“Just nine o’clock. I heard it chime the hour as I was turning out of -the gate.” - -“Can you describe him?” - -I did so to the best of my ability. - -The inspector turned to the butler. - -“Any one answering that description come to the front door?” - -“No, sir. No one has been to the house at all this evening.” - -“What about the back?” - -“I don’t think so, sir, but I’ll make inquiries.” - -He moved towards the door, but the inspector held up a large hand. - -“No, thanks. I’ll do my own inquiring. But first of all I want to fix -the time a little more clearly. When was Mr. Ackroyd last seen alive?” - -“Probably by me,” I said, “when I left at—let me see—about ten minutes -to nine. He told me that he didn’t wish to be disturbed, and I repeated -the order to Parker.” - -“Just so, sir,” said Parker respectfully. - -“Mr. Ackroyd was certainly alive at half-past nine,” put in Raymond, -“for I heard his voice in here talking.” - -“Who was he talking to?” - -“That I don’t know. Of course, at the time I took it for granted that -it was Dr. Sheppard who was with him. I wanted to ask him a question -about some papers I was engaged upon, but when I heard the voices I -remembered that he had said he wanted to talk to Dr. Sheppard without -being disturbed, and I went away again. But now it seems that the -doctor had already left?” - -I nodded. - -“I was at home by a quarter-past nine,” I said. “I didn’t go out again -until I received the telephone call.” - -“Who could have been with him at half-past nine?” queried the -inspector. “It wasn’t you, Mr.—er——” - -“Major Blunt,” I said. - -“Major Hector Blunt?” asked the inspector, a respectful tone creeping -into his voice. - -Blunt merely jerked his head affirmatively. - -“I think we’ve seen you down here before, sir,” said the inspector. -“I didn’t recognize you for the moment, but you were staying with Mr. -Ackroyd a year ago last May.” - -“June,” corrected Blunt. - -“Just so, June it was. Now, as I was saying, it wasn’t you with Mr. -Ackroyd at nine-thirty this evening?” - -Blunt shook his head. - -“Never saw him after dinner,” he volunteered. - -The inspector turned once more to Raymond. - -“You didn’t overhear any of the conversation going on, did you, sir?” - -“I did catch just a fragment of it,” said the secretary, “and, -supposing as I did that it was Dr. Sheppard who was with Mr. Ackroyd, -that fragment struck me as distinctly odd. As far as I can remember, -the exact words were these. Mr. Ackroyd was speaking. ‘The calls -on my purse have been so frequent of late’—that is what he was -saying—‘of late, that I fear it is impossible for me to accede to your -request....’ I went away again at once, of course, so did not hear any -more. But I rather wondered because Dr. Sheppard——” - -“——Does not ask for loans for himself or subscriptions for others,” I -finished. - -“A demand for money,” said the inspector musingly. “It may be that here -we have a very important clew.” He turned to the butler. “You say, -Parker, that nobody was admitted by the front door this evening?” - -“That’s what I say, sir.” - -“Then it seems almost certain that Mr. Ackroyd himself must have -admitted this stranger. But I don’t quite see——” - -The inspector went into a kind of day-dream for some minutes. - -“One thing’s clear,” he said at length, rousing himself from his -absorption. “Mr. Ackroyd was alive and well at nine-thirty. That is the -last moment at which he is known to have been alive.” - -Parker gave vent to an apologetic cough which brought the inspector’s -eyes on him at once. - -“Well?” he said sharply. - -“If you’ll excuse me, sir, Miss Flora saw him after that.” - -“Miss Flora?” - -“Yes, sir. About a quarter to ten that would be. It was after that that -she told me Mr. Ackroyd wasn’t to be disturbed again to-night.” - -“Did he send her to you with that message?” - -“Not exactly, sir. I was bringing a tray with soda and whisky when Miss -Flora, who was just coming out of this room, stopped me and said her -uncle didn’t want to be disturbed.” - -The inspector looked at the butler with rather closer attention than he -had bestowed on him up to now. - -“You’d already been told that Mr. Ackroyd didn’t want to be disturbed, -hadn’t you?” - -Parker began to stammer. His hands shook. - -“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Quite so, sir.” - -“And yet you were proposing to do so?” - -“I’d forgotten, sir. At least I mean, I always bring the whisky and -soda about that time, sir, and ask if there’s anything more, and I -thought—well, I was doing as usual without thinking.” - -It was at this moment that it began to dawn upon me that Parker was -most suspiciously flustered. The man was shaking and twitching all over. - -“H’m,” said the inspector. “I must see Miss Ackroyd at once. For the -moment we’ll leave this room exactly as it is. I can return here after -I’ve heard what Miss Ackroyd has to tell me. I shall just take the -precaution of shutting and bolting the window.” - -This precaution accomplished, he led the way into the hall and we -followed him. He paused a moment, as he glanced up at the little -staircase, then spoke over his shoulder to the constable. - -“Jones, you’d better stay here. Don’t let any one go into that room.” - -Parker interposed deferentially. - -“If you’ll excuse me, sir. If you were to lock the door into the main -hall, nobody could gain access to this part. That staircase leads only -to Mr. Ackroyd’s bedroom and bathroom. There is no communication with -the other part of the house. There once was a door through, but Mr. -Ackroyd had it blocked up. He liked to feel that his suite was entirely -private.” - -To make things clear and explain the position, I have appended a rough -sketch of the right-hand wing of the house. The small staircase leads, -as Parker explained, to a big bedroom (made by two being knocked into -one) and an adjoining bathroom and lavatory. - -[Illustration: - - +------------------------------------. - | TERRACE . - |--==--+--==---==--+---==---==----+ . - |PANTRY| DINING | DRAWING | . - | | ROOM | ROOM | . - | | | | . - |___/ _+___/ __/ _+_/ +__________+ . - | | | . - |___ ___+____+ \STAIRS‖‖‖| . - | \ |====| +-- /------+ . - | |====| | | . - |BILLIARD|====| HALL | | . - | ROOM |====| | STUDY ‖ . - | +----+ | ‖ . - | |STAIRCASE | | . - | | | | . - | \ | | . - +-==-==--+-------+ +--+----------+- -+ - | | . . - FRONT DOOR . . - . . . . - . . . . - . . . . - . . PATH . - . . . . .. - LAWN . . . . . . - . . . . . . - . . . . .. - . . . . SUMMER - . +---+ HOUSE - . | |LODGE - -----------------+ +---+-------------- -] - -The inspector took in the position at a glance. We went through into -the large hall and he locked the door behind him, slipping the key into -his pocket. Then he gave the constable some low-voiced instructions, -and the latter prepared to depart. - -“We must get busy on those shoe tracks,” explained the inspector. “But -first of all, I must have a word with Miss Ackroyd. She was the last -person to see her uncle alive. Does she know yet?” - -Raymond shook his head. - -“Well, no need to tell her for another five minutes. She can answer my -questions better without being upset by knowing the truth about her -uncle. Tell her there’s been a burglary, and ask her if she would mind -dressing and coming down to answer a few questions.” - -It was Raymond who went upstairs on this errand. - -“Miss Ackroyd will be down in a minute,” he said, when he returned. “I -told her just what you suggested.” - -In less than five minutes Flora descended the staircase. She was -wrapped in a pale pink silk kimono. She looked anxious and excited. - -The inspector stepped forward. - -“Good-evening, Miss Ackroyd,” he said civilly. “We’re afraid there’s -been an attempt at robbery, and we want you to help us. What’s this -room—the billiard room? Come in here and sit down.” - -Flora sat down composedly on the wide divan which ran the length of the -wall, and looked up at the inspector. - -“I don’t quite understand. What has been stolen? What do you want me to -tell you?” - -“It’s just this, Miss Ackroyd. Parker here says you came out of your -uncle’s study at about a quarter to ten. Is that right?” - -“Quite right. I had been to say good-night to him.” - -“And the time is correct?” - -“Well, it must have been about then. I can’t say exactly. It might have -been later.” - -“Was your uncle alone, or was there any one with him?” - -“He was alone. Dr. Sheppard had gone.” - -“Did you happen to notice whether the window was open or shut?” - -Flora shook her head. - -“I can’t say. The curtains were drawn.” - -“Exactly. And your uncle seemed quite as usual?” - -“I think so.” - -“Do you mind telling us exactly what passed between you?” - -Flora paused a minute, as though to collect her recollections. - -“I went in and said, ‘Good-night, uncle, I’m going to bed now. I’m -tired to-night.’ He gave a sort of grunt, and—I went over and kissed -him, and he said something about my looking nice in the frock I had on, -and then he told me to run away as he was busy. So I went.” - -“Did he ask specially not to be disturbed?” - -“Oh! yes, I forgot. He said: ‘Tell Parker I don’t want anything more -to-night, and that he’s not to disturb me.’ I met Parker just outside -the door and gave him uncle’s message.” - -“Just so,” said the inspector. - -“Won’t you tell me what it is that has been stolen?” - -“We’re not quite—certain,” said the inspector hesitatingly. - -A wide look of alarm came into the girl’s eyes. She started up. - -“What is it? You’re hiding something from me?” - -Moving in his usual unobtrusive manner, Hector Blunt came between her -and the inspector. She half stretched out her hand, and he took it in -both of his, patting it as though she were a very small child, and she -turned to him as though something in his stolid, rocklike demeanor -promised comfort and safety. - -“It’s bad news, Flora,” he said quietly. “Bad news for all of us. Your -Uncle Roger——” - -“Yes?” - -“It will be a shock to you. Bound to be. Poor Roger’s dead.” - -Flora drew away from him, her eyes dilating with horror. - -“When?” she whispered. “When?” - -“Very soon after you left him, I’m afraid,” said Blunt gravely. - -Flora raised her hand to her throat, gave a little cry, and I hurried -to catch her as she fell. She had fainted, and Blunt and I carried her -upstairs and laid her on her bed. Then I got him to wake Mrs. Ackroyd -and tell her the news. Flora soon revived, and I brought her mother to -her, telling her what to do for the girl. Then I hurried downstairs -again. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - THE TUNISIAN DAGGER - - -I met the inspector just coming from the door which led into the -kitchen quarters. - -“How’s the young lady, doctor?” - -“Coming round nicely. Her mother’s with her.” - -“That’s good. I’ve been questioning the servants. They all declare that -no one has been to the back door to-night. Your description of that -stranger was rather vague. Can’t you give us something more definite to -go upon?” - -“I’m afraid not,” I said regretfully. “It was a dark night, you see, -and the fellow had his coat collar well pulled up and his hat squashed -down over his eyes.” - -“H’m,” said the inspector. “Looked as though he wanted to conceal his -face. Sure it was no one you know?” - -I replied in the negative, but not as decidedly as I might have done. I -remembered my impression that the stranger’s voice was not unfamiliar -to me. I explained this rather haltingly to the inspector. - -“It was a rough, uneducated voice, you say?” - -I agreed, but it occurred to me that the roughness had been of an -almost exaggerated quality. If, as the inspector thought, the man had -wished to hide his face, he might equally well have tried to disguise -his voice. - -“Do you mind coming into the study with me again, doctor? There are one -or two things I want to ask you.” - -I acquiesced. Inspector Davis unlocked the door of the lobby, we passed -through, and he locked the door again behind him. - -“We don’t want to be disturbed,” he said grimly. “And we don’t want any -eavesdropping either. What’s all this about blackmail?” - -“Blackmail!” I exclaimed, very much startled. - -“Is it an effort of Parker’s imagination? Or is there something in it?” - -“If Parker heard anything about blackmail,” I said slowly, “he must -have been listening outside this door with his ear glued against the -keyhole.” - -Davis nodded. - -“Nothing more likely. You see, I’ve been instituting a few inquiries as -to what Parker has been doing with himself this evening. To tell the -truth, I didn’t like his manner. The man knows something. When I began -to question him, he got the wind up, and plumped out some garbled story -of blackmail.” - -I took an instant decision. - -“I’m rather glad you’ve brought the matter up,” I said. “I’ve been -trying to decide whether to make a clean breast of things or not. I’d -already practically decided to tell you everything, but I was going to -wait for a favorable opportunity. You might as well have it now.” - -And then and there I narrated the whole events of the evening as I -have set them down here. The inspector listened keenly, occasionally -interjecting a question. - -“Most extraordinary story I ever heard,” he said, when I had finished. -“And you say that letter has completely disappeared? It looks bad—it -looks very bad indeed. It gives us what we’ve been looking for—a motive -for the murder.” - -I nodded. - -“I realize that.” - -“You say that Mr. Ackroyd hinted at a suspicion he had that some member -of his household was involved? Household’s rather an elastic term.” - -“You don’t think that Parker himself might be the man we’re after?” I -suggested. - -“It looks very like it. He was obviously listening at the door when -you came out. Then Miss Ackroyd came across him later bent on entering -the study. Say he tried again when she was safely out of the way. He -stabbed Ackroyd, locked the door on the inside, opened the window, and -got out that way, and went round to a side door which he had previously -left open. How’s that?” - -“There’s only one thing against it,” I said slowly. “If Ackroyd went on -reading that letter as soon as I left, as he intended to do, I don’t -see him continuing to sit on here and turn things over in his mind for -another hour. He’d have had Parker in at once, accused him then and -there, and there would have been a fine old uproar. Remember, Ackroyd -was a man of choleric temper.” - -“Mightn’t have had time to go on with the letter just then,” suggested -the inspector. “We know some one was with him at half-past nine. If -that visitor turned up as soon as you left, and after he went, Miss -Ackroyd came in to say good-night—well, he wouldn’t be able to go on -with the letter until close upon ten o’clock.” - -“And the telephone call?” - -“Parker sent that all right—perhaps before he thought of the locked -door and open window. Then he changed his mind—or got in a panic—and -decided to deny all knowledge of it. That was it, depend upon it.” - -“Ye-es,” I said rather doubtfully. - -“Anyway, we can find out the truth about the telephone call from the -exchange. If it was put through from here, I don’t see how any one -else but Parker could have sent it. Depend upon it, he’s our man. -But keep it dark—we don’t want to alarm him just yet, till we’ve got -all the evidence. I’ll see to it he doesn’t give us the slip. To all -appearances we’ll be concentrating on your mysterious stranger.” - -He rose from where he had been sitting astride the chair belonging to -the desk, and crossed over to the still form in the arm-chair. - -“The weapon ought to give us a clew,” he remarked, looking up. “It’s -something quite unique—a curio, I should think, by the look of it.” - -He bent down, surveying the handle attentively, and I heard him give a -grunt of satisfaction. Then, very gingerly, he pressed his hands down -below the hilt and drew the blade out from the wound. Still carrying it -so as not to touch the handle, he placed it in a wide china mug which -adorned the mantelpiece. - -“Yes,” he said, nodding at it. “Quite a work of art. There can’t be -many of them about.” - -It was indeed a beautiful object. A narrow, tapering blade, and a hilt -of elaborately intertwined metals of curious and careful workmanship. -He touched the blade gingerly with his finger, testing its sharpness, -and made an appreciative grimace. - -“Lord, what an edge,” he exclaimed. “A child could drive that into a -man—as easy as cutting butter. A dangerous sort of toy to have about.” - -“May I examine the body properly now?” I asked. - -He nodded. - -“Go ahead.” - -I made a thorough examination. - -“Well?” said the inspector, when I had finished. - -“I’ll spare you the technical language,” I said. “We’ll keep that -for the inquest. The blow was delivered by a right-handed man -standing behind him, and death must have been instantaneous. By the -expression on the dead man’s face, I should say that the blow was quite -unexpected. He probably died without knowing who his assailant was.” - -“Butlers can creep about as soft-footed as cats,” said Inspector Davis. -“There’s not going to be much mystery about this crime. Take a look at -the hilt of that dagger.” - -I took the look. - -“I dare say they’re not apparent to you, but I can see them clearly -enough.” He lowered his voice. “_Fingerprints!_” - -He stood off a few steps to judge of his effect. - -“Yes,” I said mildly. “I guessed that.” - -I do not see why I should be supposed to be totally devoid of -intelligence. After all, I read detective stories, and the newspapers, -and am a man of quite average ability. If there had been toe marks on -the dagger handle, now, that would have been quite a different thing. I -would then have registered any amount of surprise and awe. - -I think the inspector was annoyed with me for declining to get -thrilled. He picked up the china mug and invited me to accompany him to -the billiard room. - -“I want to see if Mr. Raymond can tell us anything about this dagger,” -he explained. - -Locking the outer door behind us again, we made our way to the billiard -room, where we found Geoffrey Raymond. The inspector held up his -exhibit. - -“Ever seen this before, Mr. Raymond?” - -“Why—I believe—I’m almost sure that is a curio given to Mr. Ackroyd -by Major Blunt. It comes from Morocco—no, Tunis. So the crime was -committed with that? What an extraordinary thing. It seems almost -impossible, and yet there could hardly be two daggers the same. May I -fetch Major Blunt?” - -Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off. - -“Nice young fellow that,” said the inspector. “Something honest and -ingenuous about him.” - -I agreed. In the two years that Geoffrey Raymond has been secretary to -Ackroyd, I have never seen him ruffled or out of temper. And he has -been, I know, a most efficient secretary. - -In a minute or two Raymond returned, accompanied by Blunt. - -“I was right,” said Raymond excitedly. “It _is_ the Tunisian dagger.” - -“Major Blunt hasn’t looked at it yet,” objected the inspector. - -“Saw it the moment I came into the study,” said the quiet man. - -“You recognized it then?” - -Blunt nodded. - -“You said nothing about it,” said the inspector suspiciously. - -“Wrong moment,” said Blunt. “Lot of harm done by blurting out things at -the wrong time.” - -He returned the inspector’s stare placidly enough. - -The latter grunted at last and turned away. He brought the dagger over -to Blunt. - -“You’re quite sure about it, sir. You identify it positively?” - -“Absolutely. No doubt whatever.” - -“Where was this—er—curio usually kept? Can you tell me that, sir?” - -It was the secretary who answered. - -“In the silver table in the drawing-room.” - -“What?” I exclaimed. - -The others looked at me. - -“Yes, doctor?” said the inspector encouragingly. - -“It’s nothing.” - -“Yes, doctor?” said the inspector again, still more encouragingly. - -“It’s so trivial,” I explained apologetically. “Only that when I -arrived last night for dinner I heard the lid of the silver table being -shut down in the drawing-room.” - -I saw profound skepticism and a trace of suspicion on the inspector’s -countenance. - -“How did you know it was the silver table lid?” - -I was forced to explain in detail—a long, tedious explanation which I -would infinitely rather not have had to make. - -The inspector heard me to the end. - -“Was the dagger in its place when you were looking over the contents?” -he asked. - -“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t say I remember noticing it—but, of -course, it may have been there all the time.” - -“We’d better get hold of the housekeeper,” remarked the inspector, and -pulled the bell. - -A few minutes later Miss Russell, summoned by Parker, entered the room. - -“I don’t think I went near the silver table,” she said, when the -inspector had posed his question. “I was looking to see that all the -flowers were fresh. Oh! yes, I remember now. The silver table was -open—which it had no business to be, and I shut the lid down as I -passed.” - -She looked at him aggressively. - -“I see,” said the inspector. “Can you tell me if this dagger was in its -place then?” - -Miss Russell looked at the weapon composedly. - -“I can’t say, I’m sure,” she replied. “I didn’t stop to look. I knew -the family would be down any minute, and I wanted to get away.” - -“Thank you,” said the inspector. - -There was just a trace of hesitation in his manner, as though he would -have liked to question her further, but Miss Russell clearly accepted -the words as a dismissal, and glided from the room. - -“Rather a Tartar, I should fancy, eh?” said the inspector, looking -after her. “Let me see. This silver table is in front of one of the -windows, I think you said, doctor?” - -Raymond answered for me. - -“Yes, the left-hand window.” - -“And the window was open?” - -“They were both ajar.” - -“Well, I don’t think we need go into the question much further. -Somebody—I’ll just say somebody—could get that dagger any time he -liked, and exactly when he got it doesn’t matter in the least. I’ll be -coming up in the morning with the chief constable, Mr. Raymond. Until -then, I’ll keep the key of that door. I want Colonel Melrose to see -everything exactly as it is. I happen to know that he’s dining out the -other side of the county, and, I believe, staying the night....” - -We watched the inspector take up the jar. - -“I shall have to pack this carefully,” he observed. “It’s going to be -an important piece of evidence in more ways than one.” - -A few minutes later as I came out of the billiard room with Raymond, -the latter gave a low chuckle of amusement. - -I felt the pressure of his hand on my arm, and followed the direction -of his eyes. Inspector Davis seemed to be inviting Parker’s opinion of -a small pocket diary. - -“A little obvious,” murmured my companion. “So Parker is the suspect, -is he? Shall we oblige Inspector Davis with a set of our fingerprints -also?” - -He took two cards from the card tray, wiped them with his silk -handkerchief, then handed one to me and took the other himself. Then, -with a grin, he handed them to the police inspector. - -“Souvenirs,” he said. “No. 1, Dr. Sheppard; No. 2, my humble self. One -from Major Blunt will be forthcoming in the morning.” - -Youth is very buoyant. Even the brutal murder of his friend and -employer could not dim Geoffrey Raymond’s spirits for long. Perhaps -that is as it should be. I do not know. I have lost the quality of -resilience long since myself. - -It was very late when I got back, and I hoped that Caroline would have -gone to bed. I might have known better. - -She had hot cocoa waiting for me, and whilst I drank it, she extracted -the whole history of the evening from me. I said nothing of the -blackmailing business, but contented myself with giving her the facts -of the murder. - -“The police suspect Parker,” I said, as I rose to my feet and prepared -to ascend to bed. “There seems a fairly clear case against him.” - -“Parker!” said my sister. “Fiddlesticks! That inspector must be a -perfect fool. Parker indeed! Don’t tell me.” - -With which obscure pronouncement we went up to bed. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - I LEARN MY NEIGHBOR’S PROFESSION - - -On the following morning I hurried unforgivably over my round. My -excuse can be that I had no very serious cases to attend. On my return -Caroline came into the hall to greet me. - -“Flora Ackroyd is here,” she announced in an excited whisper. - -“What?” - -I concealed my surprise as best I could. - -“She’s very anxious to see you. She’s been here half an hour.” - -Caroline led the way into our small sitting-room, and I followed. - -Flora was sitting on the sofa by the window. She was in black and she -sat nervously twisting her hands together. I was shocked by the sight -of her face. All the color had faded away from it. But when she spoke -her manner was as composed and resolute as possible. - -“Dr. Sheppard, I have come to ask you to help me.” - -“Of course he’ll help you, my dear,” said Caroline. - -I don’t think Flora really wished Caroline to be present at the -interview. She would, I am sure, have infinitely preferred to speak to -me privately. But she also wanted to waste no time, so she made the -best of it. - -“I want you to come to The Larches with me.” - -“The Larches?” I queried, surprised. - -“To see that funny little man?” exclaimed Caroline. - -“Yes. You know who he is, don’t you?” - -“We fancied,” I said, “that he might be a retired hairdresser.” - -Flora’s blue eyes opened very wide. - -“Why, he’s Hercule Poirot! You know who I mean—the private detective. -They say he’s done the most wonderful things—just like detectives do in -books. A year ago he retired and came to live down here. Uncle knew who -he was, but he promised not to tell any one, because M. Poirot wanted -to live quietly without being bothered by people.” - -“So that’s who he is,” I said slowly. - -“You’ve heard of him, of course?” - -“I’m rather an old fogey, as Caroline tells me,” I said, “but I _have_ -just heard of him.” - -“Extraordinary!” commented Caroline. - -I don’t know what she was referring to—possibly her own failure to -discover the truth. - -“You want to go and see him?” I asked slowly. “Now why?” - -“To get him to investigate this murder, of course,” said Caroline -sharply. “Don’t be so stupid, James.” - -I was not really being stupid. Caroline does not always understand what -I am driving at. - -“You haven’t got confidence in Inspector Davis?” I went on. - -“Of course she hasn’t,” said Caroline. “I haven’t either.” - -Any one would have thought it was Caroline’s uncle who had been -murdered. - -“And how do you know he would take up the case?” I asked. “Remember he -has retired from active work.” - -“That’s just it,” said Flora simply. “I’ve got to persuade him.” - -“You are sure you are doing wisely?” I asked gravely. - -“Of course she is,” said Caroline. “I’ll go with her myself if she -likes.” - -“I’d rather the doctor came with me if you don’t mind, Miss Sheppard,” -said Flora. - -She knows the value of being direct on certain occasions. Any hints -would certainly have been wasted on Caroline. - -“You see,” she explained, following directness with tact, “Dr. Sheppard -being the doctor, and having found the body, he would be able to give -all the details to M. Poirot.” - -“Yes,” said Caroline grudgingly, “I see that.” - -I took a turn or two up and down the room. - -“Flora,” I said gravely, “be guided by me. I advise you not to drag -this detective into the case.” - -Flora sprang to her feet. The color rushed into her cheeks. - -“I know why you say that,” she cried. “But it’s exactly for that reason -I’m so anxious to go. You’re afraid! But I’m not. I know Ralph better -than you do.” - -“Ralph,” said Caroline. “What has Ralph got to do with it?” - -Neither of us heeded her. - -“Ralph may be weak,” continued Flora. “He may have done foolish things -in the past—wicked things even—but he wouldn’t murder any one.” - -“No, no,” I exclaimed. “I never thought it of him.” - -“Then why did you go to the Three Boars last night?” demanded Flora, -“on your way home—after uncle’s body was found?” - -I was momentarily silenced. I had hoped that that visit of mine would -remain unnoticed. - -“How did you know about that?” I countered. - -“I went there this morning,” said Flora. “I heard from the servants -that Ralph was staying there——” - -I interrupted her. - -“You had no idea that he was in King’s Abbot?” - -“No. I was astounded. I couldn’t understand it. I went there and asked -for him. They told me, what I suppose they told you last night, that -he went out at about nine o’clock yesterday evening—and—and never came -back.” - -Her eyes met mine defiantly, and as though answering something in my -look, she burst out:— - -“Well, why shouldn’t he? He might have gone—anywhere. He may even have -gone back to London.” - -“Leaving his luggage behind?” I asked gently. - -Flora stamped her foot. - -“I don’t care. There must be a simple explanation.” - -“And that’s why you want to go to Hercule Poirot? Isn’t it better to -leave things as they are? The police don’t suspect Ralph in the least, -remember. They’re working on quite another tack.” - -“But that’s just _it_,” cried the girl. “They _do_ suspect him. A man -from Cranchester turned up this morning—Inspector Raglan, a horrid, -weaselly little man. I found he had been to the Three Boars this -morning before me. They told me all about his having been there, and -the questions he had asked. He must think Ralph did it.” - -“That’s a change of mind from last night, if so,” I said slowly. “He -doesn’t believe in Davis’s theory that it was Parker then?” - -“Parker indeed,” said my sister, and snorted. - -Flora came forward and laid her hand on my arm. - -“Oh! Dr. Sheppard, let us go at once to this M. Poirot. He will find -out the truth.” - -“My dear Flora,” I said gently, laying my hand on hers. “Are you quite -sure it is the truth we want?” - -She looked at me, nodding her head gravely. - -“You’re not sure,” she said. “I am. I know Ralph better than you do.” - -“Of course he didn’t do it,” said Caroline, who had been keeping silent -with great difficulty. “Ralph may be extravagant, but he’s a dear boy, -and has the nicest manners.” - -I wanted to tell Caroline that large numbers of murderers have had -nice manners, but the presence of Flora restrained me. Since the -girl was determined, I was forced to give in to her and we started -at once, getting away before my sister was able to fire off any more -pronouncements beginning with her favorite words, “Of course.” - -An old woman with an immense Breton cap opened the door of The Larches -to us. M. Poirot was at home, it seemed. - -We were ushered into a little sitting-room arranged with formal -precision, and there, after the lapse of a minute or so, my friend of -yesterday came to us. - -“Monsieur le docteur,” he said, smiling. “Mademoiselle.” - -He bowed to Flora. - -“Perhaps,” I began, “you have heard of the tragedy which occurred last -night.” - -His face grew grave. - -“But certainly I have heard. It is horrible. I offer mademoiselle all -my sympathy. In what way can I serve you?” - -“Miss Ackroyd,” I said, “wants you to—to——” - -“To find the murderer,” said Flora in a clear voice. - -“I see,” said the little man. “But the police will do that, will they -not?” - -“They might make a mistake,” said Flora. “They are on their way to make -a mistake now, I think. Please, M. Poirot, won’t you help us? If—if it -is a question of money——” - -Poirot held up his hand. - -“Not that, I beg of you, mademoiselle. Not that I do not care for -money.” His eyes showed a momentary twinkle. “Money, it means much to -me and always has done. No, if I go into this, you must understand one -thing clearly. _I shall go through with it to the end._ The good dog, -he does not leave the scent, remember! You may wish that, after all, -you had left it to the local police.” - -“I want the truth,” said Flora, looking him straight in the eyes. - -“All the truth?” - -“All the truth.” - -“Then I accept,” said the little man quietly. “And I hope you will not -regret those words. Now, tell me all the circumstances.” - -“Dr. Sheppard had better tell you,” said Flora. “He knows more than I -do.” - -Thus enjoined, I plunged into a careful narrative, embodying all the -facts I have previously set down. Poirot listened carefully, inserting -a question here and there, but for the most part sitting in silence, -his eyes on the ceiling. - -I brought my story to a close with the departure of the inspector and -myself from Fernly Park the previous night. - -“And now,” said Flora, as I finished, “tell him all about Ralph.” - -I hesitated, but her imperious glance drove me on. - -“You went to this inn—this Three Boars—last night on your way home?” -asked Poirot, as I brought my tale to a close. “Now exactly why was -that?” - -I paused a moment to choose my words carefully. - -“I thought some one ought to inform the young man of his uncle’s death. -It occurred to me after I had left Fernly that possibly no one but -myself and Mr. Ackroyd were aware that he was staying in the village.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“Quite so. That was your only motive in going there, eh?” - -“That was my only motive,” I said stiffly. - -“It was not to—shall we say—reassure yourself about _ce jeune homme_?” - -“Reassure myself?” - -“I think, M. le docteur, that you know very well what I mean, though -you pretend not to do so. I suggest that it would have been a relief -to you if you had found that Captain Paton had been at home all the -evening.” - -“Not at all,” I said sharply. - -The little detective shook his head at me gravely. - -“You have not the trust in me of Miss Flora,” he said. “But no matter. -What we have to look at is this—Captain Paton is missing, under -circumstances which call for an explanation. I will not hide from you -that the matter looks grave. Still, it may admit of a perfectly simple -explanation.” - -“That’s just what I keep saying,” cried Flora eagerly. - -Poirot touched no more upon that theme. Instead he suggested an -immediate visit to the local police. He thought it better for Flora -to return home, and for me to be the one to accompany him there and -introduce him to the officer in charge of the case. - -We carried out this plan forthwith. We found Inspector Davis outside -the police station looking very glum indeed. With him was Colonel -Melrose, the Chief Constable, and another man whom, from Flora’s -description of “weaselly,” I had no difficulty in recognizing as -Inspector Raglan from Cranchester. - -I know Melrose fairly well, and I introduced Poirot to him and -explained the situation. The chief constable was clearly vexed, and -Inspector Raglan looked as black as thunder. Davis, however, seemed -slightly exhilarated by the sight of his superior officer’s annoyance. - -“The case is going to be plain as a pikestaff,” said Raglan. “Not the -least need for amateurs to come butting in. You’d think any fool would -have seen the way things were last night, and then we shouldn’t have -lost twelve hours.” - -He directed a vengeful glance at poor Davis, who received it with -perfect stolidity. - -“Mr. Ackroyd’s family must, of course, do what they see fit,” said -Colonel Melrose. “But we cannot have the official investigation -hampered in any way. I know M. Poirot’s great reputation, of course,” -he added courteously. - -“The police can’t advertise themselves, worse luck,” said Raglan. - -It was Poirot who saved the situation. - -“It is true that I have retired from the world,” he said. “I never -intended to take up a case again. Above all things, I have a horror of -publicity. I must beg, that in the case of my being able to contribute -something to the solution of the mystery, my name may not be mentioned.” - -Inspector Raglan’s face lightened a little. - -“I’ve heard of some very remarkable successes of yours,” observed the -colonel, thawing. - -“I have had much experience,” said Poirot quietly. “But most of my -successes have been obtained by the aid of the police. I admire -enormously your English police. If Inspector Raglan permits me to -assist him, I shall be both honored and flattered.” - -The inspector’s countenance became still more gracious. - -Colonel Melrose drew me aside. - -“From all I hear, this little fellow’s done some really remarkable -things,” he murmured. “We’re naturally anxious not to have to call in -Scotland Yard. Raglan seems very sure of himself, but I’m not quite -certain that I agree with him. You see, I—er—know the parties concerned -better than he does. This fellow doesn’t seem out after kudos, does he? -Would work in with us unobtrusively, eh?” - -“To the greater glory of Inspector Raglan,” I said solemnly. - -“Well, well,” said Colonel Melrose breezily in a louder voice, “we must -put you wise to the latest developments, M. Poirot.” - -“I thank you,” said Poirot. “My friend, Dr. Sheppard, said something of -the butler being suspected?” - -“That’s all bunkum,” said Raglan instantly. “These high-class servants -get in such a funk that they act suspiciously for nothing at all.” - -“The fingerprints?” I hinted. - -“Nothing like Parker’s.” He gave a faint smile, and added: “And yours -and Mr. Raymond’s don’t fit either, doctor.” - -“What about those of Captain Ralph Paton?” asked Poirot quietly. - -I felt a secret admiration for the way he took the bull by the horns. I -saw a look of respect creep into the inspector’s eye. - -“I see you don’t let the grass grow under your feet, Mr. Poirot. It -will be a pleasure to work with you, I’m sure. We’re going to take that -young gentleman’s fingerprints as soon as we can lay hands upon him.” - -“I can’t help thinking you’re mistaken, inspector,” said Colonel -Melrose warmly. “I’ve known Ralph Paton from a boy upward. He’d never -stoop to murder.” - -“Maybe not,” said the inspector tonelessly. - -“What have you got against him?” I asked. - -“Went out just on nine o’clock last night. Was seen in neighborhood of -Fernly Park somewhere about nine-thirty. Not been seen since. Believed -to be in serious money difficulties. I’ve got a pair of his shoes -here—shoes with rubber studs in them. He had two pairs, almost exactly -alike. I’m going up now to compare them with those footmarks. The -constable is up there seeing that no one tampers with them.” - -“We’ll go at once,” said Colonel Melrose. “You and M. Poirot will -accompany us, will you not?” - -We assented, and all drove up in the colonel’s car. The inspector was -anxious to get at once to the footmarks, and asked to be put down at -the lodge. About half-way up the drive, on the right, a path branched -off which led round to the terrace and the window of Ackroyd’s study. - -“Would you like to go with the inspector, M. Poirot?” asked the chief -constable, “or would you prefer to examine the study?” - -Poirot chose the latter alternative. Parker opened the door to us. His -manner was smug and deferential, and he seemed to have recovered from -his panic of the night before. - -Colonel Melrose took a key from his pocket, and unlocking the door -which led into the lobby, he ushered us through into the study. - -“Except for the removal of the body, M. Poirot, this room is exactly as -it was last night.” - -“And the body was found—where?” - -As precisely as possible, I described Ackroyd’s position. The arm-chair -still stood in front of the fire. - -Poirot went and sat down in it. - -“The blue letter you speak of, where was it when you left the room?” - -“Mr. Ackroyd had laid it down on this little table at his right hand.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“Except for that, everything was in its place?” - -“Yes, I think so.” - -“Colonel Melrose, would you be so extremely obliging as to sit down in -this chair a minute. I thank you. Now, M. le docteur, will you kindly -indicate to me the exact position of the dagger?” - -I did so, whilst the little man stood in the doorway. - -“The hilt of the dagger was plainly visible from the door then. Both -you and Parker could see it at once?” - -“Yes.” - -Poirot went next to the window. - -“The electric light was on, of course, when you discovered the body?” -he asked over his shoulder. - -I assented, and joined him where he was studying the marks on the -window-sill. - -“The rubber studs are the same pattern as those in Captain Paton’s -shoes,” he said quietly. - -Then he came back once more to the middle of the room. His eye traveled -round, searching everything in the room with a quick, trained glance. - -“Are you a man of good observation, Dr. Sheppard?” he asked at last. - -“I think so,” I said, surprised. - -“There was a fire in the grate, I see. When you broke the door down and -found Mr. Ackroyd dead, how was the fire? Was it low?” - -I gave a vexed laugh. - -“I—I really can’t say. I didn’t notice. Perhaps Mr. Raymond or Major -Blunt——” - -The little man opposite me shook his head with a faint smile. - -“One must always proceed with method. I made an error of judgment in -asking you that question. To each man his own knowledge. You could tell -me the details of the patient’s appearance—nothing there would escape -you. If I wanted information about the papers on that desk, Mr. Raymond -would have noticed anything there was to see. To find out about the -fire, I must ask the man whose business it is to observe such things. -You permit——” - -He moved swiftly to the fireplace and rang the bell. - -After a lapse of a minute or two Parker appeared. - -“The bell rang, sir,” he said hesitatingly. - -“Come in, Parker,” said Colonel Melrose. “This gentleman wants to ask -you something.” - -Parker transferred a respectful attention to Poirot. - -“Parker,” said the little man, “when you broke down the door with Dr. -Sheppard last night, and found your master dead, what was the state of -the fire?” - -Parker replied without a pause. - -“It had burned very low, sir. It was almost out.” - -“Ah!” said Poirot. The exclamation sounded almost triumphant. He went -on:— - -“Look round you, my good Parker. Is this room exactly as it was then?” - -The butler’s eye swept round. It came to rest on the windows. - -“The curtains were drawn, sir, and the electric light was on.” - -Poirot nodded approval. - -“Anything else?” - -“Yes, sir, this chair was drawn out a little more.” - -He indicated a big grandfather chair to the left of the door between it -and the window. I append a plan of the room with the chair in question -marked with an X. - -“Just show me,” said Poirot. - -[Illustration: - - +---------------- +-----------------+ - | + DOOR / GRANDFATHER | - | / \ / CHAIR +---+ | - | / + ] | | - | + / SMALL X ] | | - | \ / TABLE +---+ | - | + | - +++ | - ||| +---+ CHAIR IN WHICH ___ | - ||| ] | ACKROYD WAS / \ | - ||| +---+ FOUND TABLE | | | - ||| \___/ | - ||| | - ||| | - +++ +---+ + | - | ^ ] | CHAIR IN WHICH / \ | - | | +---+ SHEPPARD SAT / / + | - | | / / | - | | DESK & + / | - | | FIREPLACE CHAIR \ / | - | +------------ + | - +----------------------------------------+ -] - -The butler drew the chair in question out a good two feet from the -wall, turning it so that the seat faced the door. - -“_Voilà ce qui est curieux_,” murmured Poirot. “No one would want to -sit in a chair in such a position, I fancy. Now who pushed it back into -place again, I wonder? Did you, my friend?” - -“No, sir,” said Parker. “I was too upset with seeing the master and -all.” - -Poirot looked across at me. - -“Did you, doctor?” - -I shook my head. - -“It was back in position when I arrived with the police, sir,” put in -Parker. “I’m sure of that.” - -“Curious,” said Poirot again. - -“Raymond or Blunt must have pushed it back,” I suggested. “Surely it -isn’t important?” - -“It is completely unimportant,” said Poirot. “That is why it is so -interesting,” he added softly. - -“Excuse me a minute,” said Colonel Melrose. He left the room with -Parker. - -“Do you think Parker is speaking the truth?” I asked. - -“About the chair, yes. Otherwise I do not know. You will find, M. le -docteur, if you have much to do with cases of this kind, that they all -resemble each other in one thing.” - -“What is that?” I asked curiously. - -“Every one concerned in them has something to hide.” - -“Have I?” I asked, smiling. - -Poirot looked at me attentively. - -“I think you have,” he said quietly. - -“But——” - -“Have you told me everything known to you about this young man Paton?” -He smiled as I grew red. “Oh! do not fear. I will not press you. I -shall learn it in good time.” - -“I wish you’d tell me something of your methods,” I said hastily, to -cover my confusion. “The point about the fire, for instance?” - -“Oh! that was very simple. You leave Mr. Ackroyd at—ten minutes to -nine, was it not?” - -“Yes, exactly, I should say.” - -“The window is then closed and bolted and the door unlocked. At a -quarter past ten when the body is discovered, the door is locked and -the window is open. Who opened it? Clearly only Mr. Ackroyd himself -could have done so, and for one of two reasons. Either because the room -became unbearably hot (but since the fire was nearly out and there was -a sharp drop in temperature last night, that cannot be the reason), -or because he admitted some one that way. And if he admitted some one -that way, it must have been some one well known to him, since he had -previously shown himself uneasy on the subject of that same window.” - -“It sounds very simple,” I said. - -“Everything is simple, if you arrange the facts methodically. We are -concerned now with the personality of the person who was with him at -nine-thirty last night. Everything goes to show that that was the -individual admitted by the window, and though Mr. Ackroyd was seen -alive later by Miss Flora, we cannot approach a solution of the mystery -until we know who that visitor was. The window may have been left open -after his departure and so afforded entrance to the murderer, or the -same person may have returned a second time. Ah! here is the colonel -who returns.” - -Colonel Melrose entered with an animated manner. - -“That telephone call has been traced at last,” he said. “It did not -come from here. It was put through to Dr. Sheppard at 10.15 last night -from a public call office at King’s Abbot station. And at 10.23 the -night mail leaves for Liverpool.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - INSPECTOR RAGLAN IS CONFIDENT - - -We looked at each other. - -“You’ll have inquiries made at the station, of course?” I said. - -“Naturally, but I’m not over sanguine as to the result. You know what -that station is like.” - -I did. King’s Abbot is a mere village, but its station happens to -be an important junction. Most of the big expresses stop there, and -trains are shunted, re-sorted, and made up. It has two or three public -telephone boxes. At that time of night three local trains come in -close upon each other, to catch the connection with the express for -the north which comes in at 10.19 and leaves at 10.23. The whole place -is in a bustle, and the chances of one particular person being noticed -telephoning or getting into the express are very small indeed. - -“But why telephone at all?” demanded Melrose. “That is what I find so -extraordinary. There seems no rhyme or reason in the thing.” - -Poirot carefully straightened a china ornament on one of the bookcases. - -“Be sure there was a reason,” he said over his shoulder. - -“But what reason could it be?” - -“When we know that, we shall know everything. This case is very curious -and very interesting.” - -There was something almost indescribable in the way he said those last -words. I felt that he was looking at the case from some peculiar angle -of his own, and what he saw I could not tell. - -He went to the window and stood there, looking out. - -“You say it was nine o’clock, Dr. Sheppard, when you met this stranger -outside the gate?” - -He asked the question without turning round. - -“Yes,” I replied. “I heard the church clock chime the hour.” - -“How long would it take him to reach the house—to reach this window, -for instance?” - -“Five minutes at the outside. Two or three minutes only if he took the -path at the right of the drive and came straight here.” - -“But to do that he would have to know the way. How can I explain -myself?—it would mean that he had been here before—that he knew his -surroundings.” - -“That is true,” replied Colonel Melrose. - -“We could find out, doubtless, if Mr. Ackroyd had received any -strangers during the past week?” - -“Young Raymond could tell us that,” I said. - -“Or Parker,” suggested Colonel Melrose. - -“_Ou tous les deux_,” suggested Poirot, smiling. - -Colonel Melrose went in search of Raymond, and I rang the bell once -more for Parker. - -Colonel Melrose returned almost immediately, accompanied by the young -secretary, whom he introduced to Poirot. Geoffrey Raymond was fresh and -debonair as ever. He seemed surprised and delighted to make Poirot’s -acquaintance. - -“No idea you’d been living among us incognito, M. Poirot,” he said. “It -will be a great privilege to watch you at work——Hallo, what’s this?” - -Poirot had been standing just to the left of the door. Now he moved -aside suddenly, and I saw that while my back was turned he must have -swiftly drawn out the arm-chair till it stood in the position Parker -had indicated. - -“Want me to sit in the chair whilst you take a blood test?” asked -Raymond good-humoredly. “What’s the idea?” - -“M. Raymond, this chair was pulled out—so—last night when Mr. Ackroyd -was found killed. Some one moved it back again into place. Did you do -so?” - -The secretary’s reply came without a second’s hesitation. - -“No, indeed I didn’t. I don’t even remember that it was in that -position, but it must have been if you say so. Anyway, somebody else -must have moved it back to its proper place. Have they destroyed a clew -in doing so? Too bad!” - -“It is of no consequence,” said the detective. “Of no consequence -whatever. What I really want to ask you is this, M. Raymond: Did any -stranger come to see Mr. Ackroyd during this past week?” - -The secretary reflected for a minute or two, knitting his brows, and -during the pause Parker appeared in answer to the bell. - -“No,” said Raymond at last. “I can’t remember any one. Can you, Parker?” - -“I beg your pardon, sir?” - -“Any stranger coming to see Mr. Ackroyd this week?” - -The butler reflected for a minute or two. - -“There was the young man who came on Wednesday, sir,” he said at last. -“From Curtis and Troute, I understood he was.” - -Raymond moved this aside with an impatient hand. - -“Oh! yes, I remember, but that is not the kind of stranger this -gentleman means.” He turned to Poirot. “Mr. Ackroyd had some idea of -purchasing a dictaphone,” he explained. “It would have enabled us to -get through a lot more work in a limited time. The firm in question -sent down their representative, but nothing came of it. Mr. Ackroyd did -not make up his mind to purchase.” - -Poirot turned to the butler. - -“Can you describe this young man to me, my good Parker?” - -“He was fair-haired, sir, and short. Very neatly dressed in a blue -serge suit. A very presentable young man, sir, for his station in life.” - -Poirot turned to me. - -“The man you met outside the gate, doctor, was tall, was he not?” - -“Yes,” I said. “Somewhere about six feet, I should say.” - -“There is nothing in that, then,” declared the Belgian. “I thank you, -Parker.” - -The butler spoke to Raymond. - -“Mr. Hammond has just arrived, sir,” he said. “He is anxious to know if -he can be of any service, and he would be glad to have a word with you.” - -“I’ll come at once,” said the young man. He hurried out. Poirot looked -inquiringly at the chief constable. - -“The family solicitor, M. Poirot,” said the latter. - -“It is a busy time for this young M. Raymond,” murmured M. Poirot. “He -has the air efficient, that one.” - -“I believe Mr. Ackroyd considered him a most able secretary.” - -“He has been here—how long?” - -“Just on two years, I fancy.” - -“His duties he fulfills punctiliously. Of that I am sure. In what -manner does he amuse himself? Does he go in for _le sport_?” - -“Private secretaries haven’t much time for that sort of thing,” said -Colonel Melrose, smiling. “Raymond plays golf, I believe. And tennis in -the summer time.” - -“He does not attend the courses—I should say the running of the horses?” - -“Race meetings? No, I don’t think he’s interested in racing.” - -Poirot nodded and seemed to lose interest. He glanced slowly round the -study. - -“I have seen, I think, all that there is to be seen here.” - -I, too, looked round. - -“If those walls could speak,” I murmured. - -Poirot shook his head. - -“A tongue is not enough,” he said. “They would have to have also eyes -and ears. But do not be too sure that these dead things”—he touched -the top of the bookcase as he spoke—“are always dumb. To me they speak -sometimes—chairs, tables—they have their message!” - -He turned away towards the door. - -“What message?” I cried. “What have they said to you to-day?” - -He looked over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow quizzically. - -“An opened window,” he said. “A locked door. A chair that apparently -moved itself. To all three I say, ‘Why?’ and I find no answer.” - -He shook his head, puffed out his chest, and stood blinking at us. He -looked ridiculously full of his own importance. It crossed my mind -to wonder whether he was really any good as a detective. Had his big -reputation been built up on a series of lucky chances? - -I think the same thought must have occurred to Colonel Melrose, for he -frowned. - -“Anything more you want to see, M. Poirot?” he inquired brusquely. - -“You would perhaps be so kind as to show me the silver table from which -the weapon was taken? After that, I will trespass on your kindness no -longer.” - -We went to the drawing-room, but on the way the constable waylaid the -colonel, and after a muttered conversation the latter excused himself -and left us together. I showed Poirot the silver table, and after -raising the lid once or twice and letting it fall, he pushed open the -window and stepped out on the terrace. I followed him. - -Inspector Raglan had just turned the corner of the house, and was -coming towards us. His face looked grim and satisfied. - -“So there you are, M. Poirot,” he said. “Well, this isn’t going to be -much of a case. I’m sorry, too. A nice enough young fellow gone wrong.” - -Poirot’s face fell, and he spoke very mildly. - -“I’m afraid I shall not be able to be of much aid to you, then?” - -“Next time, perhaps,” said the inspector soothingly. “Though we don’t -have murders every day in this quiet little corner of the world.” - -Poirot’s gaze took on an admiring quality. - -“You have been of a marvelous promptness,” he observed. “How exactly -did you go to work, if I may ask?” - -“Certainly,” said the inspector. “To begin with—method. That’s what I -always say—method!” - -“Ah!” cried the other. “That, too, is my watchword. Method, order, and -the little gray cells.” - -“The cells?” said the inspector, staring. - -“The little gray cells of the brain,” explained the Belgian. - -“Oh, of course; well, we all use them, I suppose.” - -“In a greater or lesser degree,” murmured Poirot. “And there are, too, -differences in quality. Then there is the psychology of a crime. One -must study that.” - -“Ah!” said the inspector, “you’ve been bitten with all this -psychoanalysis stuff? Now, I’m a plain man——” - -“Mrs. Raglan would not agree, I am sure, to that,” said Poirot, making -him a little bow. - -Inspector Raglan, a little taken aback, bowed. - -“You don’t understand,” he said, grinning broadly. “Lord, what a lot of -difference language makes. I’m telling you how I set to work. First of -all, method. Mr. Ackroyd was last seen alive at a quarter to ten by his -niece, Miss Flora Ackroyd. That’s fact number one, isn’t it?” - -“If you say so.” - -“Well, it is. At half-past ten, the doctor here says that Mr. Ackroyd -has been dead at least half an hour. You stick to that, doctor?” - -“Certainly,” I said. “Half an hour or longer.” - -“Very good. That gives us exactly a quarter of an hour in which the -crime must have been committed. I make a list of every one in the -house, and work through it, setting down opposite their names where -they were and what they were doing between the hour of 9.45 and 10 p.m.” - -He handed a sheet of paper to Poirot. I read it over his shoulder. It -ran as follows, written in a neat script:— - - _Major Blunt.—In billiard room with Mr. Raymond. (Latter confirms.)_ - - _Mr. Raymond.—Billiard room. (See above.)_ - - _Mrs. Ackroyd.—9.45 watching billiard match. Went up to bed 9.55. - (Raymond and Blunt watched her up staircase.)_ - - _Miss Ackroyd.—Went straight from her uncle’s room upstairs. - (Confirmed by Parker, also housemaid, Elsie Dale.)_ - - _Servants_:— - - _Parker.—Went straight to butler’s pantry. (Confirmed by - housekeeper, Miss Russell, who came down to speak to him about - something at 9.47, and remained at least ten minutes.)_ - - _Miss Russell.—As above. Spoke to housemaid, Elsie Dale, upstairs - at 9.45._ - - _Ursula Bourne (parlormaid).—In her own room until 9.55. Then in - Servants’ Hall._ - - _Mrs. Cooper (cook).—In Servants’ Hall._ - - _Gladys Jones (second housemaid).—In Servants’ Hall._ - - _Elsie Dale.—Upstairs in bedroom. Seen there by Miss Russell and - Miss Flora Ackroyd._ - - _Mary Thripp (kitchenmaid).—Servants’ Hall._ - -“The cook has been here seven years, the parlormaid eighteen months, -and Parker just over a year. The others are new. Except for something -fishy about Parker, they all seem quite all right.” - -“A very complete list,” said Poirot, handing it back to him. “I am -quite sure that Parker did not do the murder,” he added gravely. - -“So is my sister,” I struck in. “And she’s usually right.” Nobody paid -any attention to my interpolation. - -“That disposes pretty effectually of the household,” continued the -inspector. “Now we come to a very grave point. The woman at the -lodge—Mary Black—was pulling the curtains last night when she saw -Ralph Paton turn in at the gate and go up towards the house.” - -“She is sure of that?” I asked sharply. - -“Quite sure. She knows him well by sight. He went past very quickly -and turned off by the path to the right, which is a short cut to the -terrace.” - -“And what time was that?” asked Poirot, who had sat with an immovable -face. - -“Exactly twenty-five minutes past nine,” said the inspector gravely. - -There was a silence. Then the inspector spoke again. - -“It’s all clear enough. It fits in without a flaw. At twenty-five -minutes past nine, Captain Paton is seen passing the lodge; at -nine-thirty or thereabouts, Mr. Geoffrey Raymond hears some one in here -asking for money and Mr. Ackroyd refusing. What happens next? Captain -Paton leaves the same way—through the window. He walks along the -terrace, angry and baffled. He comes to the open drawing-room window. -Say it’s now a quarter to ten. Miss Flora Ackroyd is saying good-night -to her uncle. Major Blunt, Mr. Raymond, and Mrs. Ackroyd are in the -billiard room. The drawing-room is empty. He steals in, takes the -dagger from the silver table, and returns to the study window. He slips -off his shoes, climbs in, and—well, I don’t need to go into details. -Then he slips out again and goes off. Hadn’t the nerve to go back to -the inn. He makes for the station, rings up from there——” - -“Why?” said Poirot softly. - -I jumped at the interruption. The little man was leaning forward. His -eyes shone with a queer green light. - -For a moment Inspector Raglan was taken aback by the question. - -“It’s difficult to say exactly why he did that,” he said at last. “But -murderers do funny things. You’d know that if you were in the police -force. The cleverest of them make stupid mistakes sometimes. But come -along and I’ll show you those footprints.” - -We followed him round the corner of the terrace to the study window. At -a word from Raglan a police constable produced the shoes which had been -obtained from the local inn. - -The inspector laid them over the marks. - -“They’re the same,” he said confidently. “That is to say, they’re not -the same pair that actually made these prints. He went away in those. -This is a pair just like them, but older—see how the studs are worn -down.” - -“Surely a great many people wear shoes with rubber studs in them?” -asked Poirot. - -“That’s so, of course,” said the inspector. “I shouldn’t put so much -stress on the footmarks if it wasn’t for everything else.” - -“A very foolish young man, Captain Ralph Paton,” said Poirot -thoughtfully. “To leave so much evidence of his presence.” - -“Ah! well,” said the inspector, “it was a dry, fine night, you know. He -left no prints on the terrace or on the graveled path. But, unluckily -for him, a spring must have welled up just lately at the end of the -path from the drive. See here.” - -A small graveled path joined the terrace a few feet away. In one -spot, a few yards from its termination, the ground was wet and boggy. -Crossing this wet place there were again the marks of footsteps, and -amongst them the shoes with rubber studs. - -Poirot followed the path on a little way, the inspector by his side. - -“You noticed the women’s footprints?” he said suddenly. - -The inspector laughed. - -“Naturally. But several different women have walked this way—and men -as well. It’s a regular short cut to the house, you see. It would be -impossible to sort out all the footsteps. After all, it’s the ones on -the window-sill that are really important.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“It’s no good going farther,” said the inspector, as we came in view of -the drive. “It’s all graveled again here, and hard as it can be.” - -Again Poirot nodded, but his eyes were fixed on a small garden house—a -kind of superior summer-house. It was a little to the left of the path -ahead of us, and a graveled walk ran up to it. - -Poirot lingered about until the inspector had gone back towards the -house. Then he looked at me. - -“You must have indeed been sent from the good God to replace my -friend Hastings,” he said, with a twinkle. “I observe that you do not -quit my side. How say you, Dr. Sheppard, shall we investigate that -summer-house? It interests me.” - -He went up to the door and opened it. Inside, the place was almost -dark. There were one or two rustic seats, a croquet set, and some -folded deck-chairs. - -I was startled to observe my new friend. He had dropped to his hands -and knees and was crawling about the floor. Every now and then he shook -his head as though not satisfied. Finally, he sat back on his heels. - -“Nothing,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps it was not to be expected. But -it would have meant so much——” - -He broke off, stiffening all over. Then he stretched out his hand to -one of the rustic chairs. He detached something from one side of it. - -“What is it?” I cried. “What have you found?” - -He smiled, unclosing his hand so that I should see what lay in the palm -of it. A scrap of stiff white cambric. - -I took it from him, looked at it curiously, and then handed it back. - -“What do you make of it, eh, my friend?” he asked, eyeing me keenly. - -“A scrap torn from a handkerchief,” I suggested, shrugging my shoulders. - -He made another dart and picked up a small quill—a goose quill by the -look of it. - -“And that?” he cried triumphantly. “What do you make of that?” - -I only stared. - -He slipped the quill into his pocket, and looked again at the scrap of -white stuff. - -“A fragment of a handkerchief?” he mused. “Perhaps you are right. But -remember this—_a good laundry does not starch a handkerchief_.” - -He nodded at me triumphantly, then he put away the scrap carefully in -his pocket-book. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE GOLDFISH POND - - -We walked back to the house together. There was no sign of the -inspector. Poirot paused on the terrace and stood with his back to the -house, slowly turning his head from side to side. - -“_Une belle propriété_,” he said at last appreciatively. “Who inherits -it?” - -His words gave me almost a shock. It is an odd thing, but until that -moment the question of inheritance had never come into my head. Poirot -watched me keenly. - -“It is a new idea to you, that,” he said at last. “You had not thought -of it before—eh?” - -“No,” I said truthfully. “I wish I had.” - -He looked at me again curiously. - -“I wonder just what you mean by that,” he said thoughtfully. “Ah! no,” -as I was about to speak. “_Inutile!_ You would not tell me your real -thought.” - -“Every one has something to hide,” I quoted, smiling. - -“Exactly.” - -“You still believe that?” - -“More than ever, my friend. But it is not easy to hide things from -Hercule Poirot. He has a knack of finding out.” - -He descended the steps of the Dutch garden as he spoke. - -“Let us walk a little,” he said over his shoulder. “The air is pleasant -to-day.” - -I followed him. He led me down a path to the left enclosed in yew -hedges. A walk led down the middle, bordered each side with formal -flower beds, and at the end was a round paved recess with a seat and -a pond of goldfish. Instead of pursuing the path to the end, Poirot -took another which wound up the side of a wooded slope. In one spot the -trees had been cleared away, and a seat had been put. Sitting there one -had a splendid view over the countryside, and one looked right down on -the paved recess and the goldfish pond. - -“England is very beautiful,” said Poirot, his eyes straying over the -prospect. Then he smiled. “And so are English girls,” he said in a -lower tone. “Hush, my friend, and look at the pretty picture below us.” - -It was then that I saw Flora. She was moving along the path we had -just left and she was humming a little snatch of song. Her step was -more dancing than walking, and in spite of her black dress, there was -nothing but joy in her whole attitude. She gave a sudden pirouette on -her toes, and her black draperies swung out. At the same time she flung -her head back and laughed outright. - -As she did so a man stepped out from the trees. It was Hector Blunt. - -The girl started. Her expression changed a little. - -“How you startled me—I didn’t see you.” - -Blunt said nothing, but stood looking at her for a minute or two in -silence. - -“What I like about you,” said Flora, with a touch of malice, “is your -cheery conversation.” - -I fancy that at that Blunt reddened under his tan. His voice, when he -spoke, sounded different—it had a curious sort of humility in it. - -“Never was much of a fellow for talking. Not even when I was young.” - -“That was a very long time ago, I suppose,” said Flora gravely. - -I caught the undercurrent of laughter in her voice, but I don’t think -Blunt did. - -“Yes,” he said simply, “it was.” - -“How does it feel to be Methuselah?” asked Flora. - -This time the laughter was more apparent, but Blunt was following out -an idea of his own. - -“Remember the Johnny who sold his soul to the devil? In return for -being made young again? There’s an opera about it.” - -“Faust, you mean?” - -“That’s the beggar. Rum story. Some of us would do it if we could.” - -“Any one would think you were creaking at the joints to hear you talk,” -cried Flora, half vexed, half amused. - -Blunt said nothing for a minute or two. Then he looked away from Flora -into the middle distance and observed to an adjacent tree trunk that it -was about time he got back to Africa. - -“Are you going on another expedition—shooting things?” - -“Expect so. Usually do, you know—shoot things, I mean.” - -“You shot that head in the hall, didn’t you?” - -Blunt nodded. Then he jerked out, going rather red, as he did so:— - -“Care for some decent skins any time? If so, I could get ’em for you.” - -“Oh! please do,” cried Flora. “Will you really? You won’t forget?” - -“I shan’t forget,” said Hector Blunt. - -He added, in a sudden burst of communicativeness:— - -“Time I went. I’m no good in this sort of life. Haven’t got the manners -for it. I’m a rough fellow, no use in society. Never remember the -things one’s expected to say. Yes, time I went.” - -“But you’re not going at once,” cried Flora. “Not—not while we’re in -all this trouble. Oh! please. If you go——” - -She turned away a little. - -“You want me to stay?” asked Blunt. - -He spoke deliberately but quite simply. - -“We all——” - -“I meant you personally,” said Blunt, with directness. - -Flora turned slowly back again and met his eyes. - -“I want you to stay,” she said, “if—if that makes any difference.” - -“It makes all the difference,” said Blunt. - -There was a moment’s silence. They sat down on the stone seat by the -goldfish pond. It seemed as though neither of them knew quite what to -say next. - -“It—it’s such a lovely morning,” said Flora at last. “You know, I can’t -help feeling happy, in spite—in spite of everything. That’s awful, I -suppose?” - -“Quite natural,” said Blunt. “Never saw your uncle until two years ago, -did you? Can’t be expected to grieve very much. Much better to have no -humbug about it.” - -“There’s something awfully consoling about you,” said Flora. “You make -things so simple.” - -“Things are simple as a rule,” said the big game hunter. - -“Not always,” said Flora. - -Her voice had lowered itself, and I saw Blunt turn and look at her, -bringing his eyes back from (apparently) the coast of Africa to do so. -He evidently put his own construction on her change of tone, for he -said, after a minute or two, in rather an abrupt manner:— - -“I say, you know, you mustn’t worry. About that young chap, I mean. -Inspector’s an ass. Everybody knows—utterly absurd to think he could -have done it. Man from outside. Burglar chap. That’s the only possible -solution.” - -Flora turned to look at him. - -“You really think so?” - -“Don’t you?” said Blunt quickly. - -“I—oh, yes, of course.” - -Another silence, and then Flora burst out:— - -“I’m—I’ll tell you why I felt so happy this morning. However heartless -you think me, I’d rather tell you. It’s because the lawyer has been—Mr. -Hammond. He told us about the will. Uncle Roger has left me twenty -thousand pounds. Think of it—twenty thousand beautiful pounds.” - -Blunt looked surprised. - -“Does it mean so much to you?” - -“Mean much to me? Why, it’s everything. Freedom—life—no more scheming -and scraping and lying——” - -“Lying?” said Blunt, sharply interrupting. - -Flora seemed taken aback for a minute. - -“You know what I mean,” she said uncertainly. “Pretending to be -thankful for all the nasty castoff things rich relations give you. Last -year’s coats and skirts and hats.” - -“Don’t know much about ladies’ clothes; should have said you were -always very well turned out.” - -“It’s cost me something, though,” said Flora in a low voice. “Don’t -let’s talk of horrid things. I’m so happy. I’m free. Free to do what I -like. Free not to——” - -She stopped suddenly. - -“Not to what?” asked Blunt quickly. - -“I forget now. Nothing important.” - -Blunt had a stick in his hand, and he thrust it into the pond, poking -at something. - -“What are you doing, Major Blunt?” - -“There’s something bright down there. Wondered what it was—looks like a -gold brooch. Now I’ve stirred up the mud and it’s gone.” - -“Perhaps it’s a crown,” suggested Flora. “Like the one Mélisande saw in -the water.” - -“Mélisande,” said Blunt reflectively—“she’s in an opera, isn’t she?” - -“Yes, you seem to know a lot about operas.” - -“People take me sometimes,” said Blunt sadly. “Funny idea of -pleasure—worse racket than the natives make with their tom-toms.” - -Flora laughed. - -“I remember Mélisande,” continued Blunt, “married an old chap old -enough to be her father.” - -He threw a small piece of flint into the goldfish pond. Then, with a -change of manner, he turned to Flora. - -“Miss Ackroyd, can I do anything? About Paton, I mean. I know how -dreadfully anxious you must be.” - -“Thank you,” said Flora in a cold voice. “There is really nothing to -be done. Ralph will be all right. I’ve got hold of the most wonderful -detective in the world, and he’s going to find out all about it.” - -For some time I had felt uneasy as to our position. We were not exactly -eavesdropping, since the two in the garden below had only to lift their -heads to see us. Nevertheless, I should have drawn attention to our -presence before now, had not my companion put a warning pressure on my -arm. Clearly he wished me to remain silent. - -But now he rose briskly to his feet, clearing his throat. - -“I demand pardon,” he cried. “I cannot allow mademoiselle thus -extravagantly to compliment me, and not draw attention to my presence. -They say the listener hears no good of himself, but that is not the -case this time. To spare my blushes, I must join you and apologize.” - -He hurried down the path with me close behind him, and joined the -others by the pond. - -“This is M. Hercule Poirot,” said Flora. “I expect you’ve heard of him.” - -Poirot bowed. - -“I know Major Blunt by reputation,” he said politely. “I am glad to -have encountered you, monsieur. I am in need of some information that -you can give me.” - -Blunt looked at him inquiringly. - -“When did you last see M. Ackroyd alive?” - -“At dinner.” - -“And you neither saw nor heard anything of him after that?” - -“Didn’t see him. Heard his voice.” - -“How was that?” - -“I strolled out on the terrace——” - -“Pardon me, what time was this?” - -“About half-past nine. I was walking up and down smoking in front of -the drawing-room window. I heard Ackroyd talking in his study——” - -Poirot stooped and removed a microscopic weed. - -“Surely you couldn’t hear voices in the study from that part of the -terrace,” he murmured. - -He was not looking at Blunt, but I was, and to my intense surprise, I -saw the latter flush. - -“Went as far as the corner,” he explained unwillingly. - -“Ah! indeed?” said Poirot. - -In the mildest manner he conveyed an impression that more was wanted. - -“Thought I saw—a woman disappearing into the bushes. Just a gleam of -white, you know. Must have been mistaken. It was while I was standing -at the corner of the terrace that I heard Ackroyd’s voice speaking to -that secretary of his.” - -“Speaking to Mr. Geoffrey Raymond?” - -“Yes—that’s what I supposed at the time. Seems I was wrong.” - -“Mr. Ackroyd didn’t address him by name?” - -“Oh, no.” - -“Then, if I may ask, why did you think——?” - -Blunt explained laboriously. - -“Took it for granted that it _would_ be Raymond, because he had said -just before I came out that he was taking some papers to Ackroyd. Never -thought of it being anybody else.” - -“Can you remember what the words you heard were?” - -“Afraid I can’t. Something quite ordinary and unimportant. Only caught -a scrap of it. I was thinking of something else at the time.” - -“It is of no importance,” murmured Poirot. “Did you move a chair back -against the wall when you went into the study after the body was -discovered?” - -“Chair? No—why should I?” - -Poirot shrugged his shoulders but did not answer. He turned to Flora. - -“There is one thing I should like to know from you, mademoiselle. When -you were examining the things in the silver table with Dr. Sheppard, -was the dagger in its place, or was it not?” - -Flora’s chin shot up. - -“Inspector Raglan has been asking me that,” she said resentfully. “I’ve -told him, and I’ll tell you. I’m perfectly certain the dagger was _not_ -there. He thinks it was and that Ralph sneaked it later in the evening. -And—and he doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m saying it to—to shield -Ralph.” - -“And aren’t you?” I asked gravely. - -Flora stamped her foot. - -“You, too, Dr. Sheppard! Oh! it’s too bad.” - -Poirot tactfully made a diversion. - -“It is true what I heard you say, Major Blunt. There is something that -glitters in this pond. Let us see if I can reach it.” - -He knelt down by the pond, baring his arm to the elbow, and lowered it -in very slowly, so as not to disturb the bottom of the pond. But in -spite of all his precautions the mud eddied and swirled, and he was -forced to draw his arm out again empty-handed. - -He gazed ruefully at the mud upon his arm. I offered him my -handkerchief, which he accepted with fervent protestations of thanks. -Blunt looked at his watch. - -“Nearly lunch time,” he said. “We’d better be getting back to the -house.” - -“You will lunch with us, M. Poirot?” asked Flora. “I should like you to -meet my mother. She is—very fond of Ralph.” - -The little man bowed. - -“I shall be delighted, mademoiselle.” - -“And you will stay, too, won’t you, Dr. Sheppard?” - -I hesitated. - -“Oh, do!” - -I wanted to, so I accepted the invitation without further ceremony. - -We set out towards the house, Flora and Blunt walking ahead. - -“What hair,” said Poirot to me in a low tone, nodding towards Flora. -“The real gold! They will make a pretty couple. She and the dark, -handsome Captain Paton. Will they not?” - -I looked at him inquiringly, but he began to fuss about a few -microscopic drops of water on his coat sleeve. The man reminded me in -some ways of a cat. His green eyes and his finicking habits. - -“And all for nothing, too,” I said sympathetically. “I wonder what it -was in the pond?” - -“Would you like to see?” asked Poirot. - -I stared at him. He nodded. - -“My good friend,” he said gently and reproachfully, “Hercule Poirot -does not run the risk of disarranging his costume without being sure -of attaining his object. To do so would be ridiculous and absurd. I am -never ridiculous.” - -“But you brought your hand out empty,” I objected. - -“There are times when it is necessary to have discretion. Do you tell -your patients everything—everything, doctor? I think not. Nor do you -tell your excellent sister everything either, is it not so? Before -showing my empty hand, I dropped what it contained into my other hand. -You shall see what that was.” - -He held out his left hand, palm open. On it lay a little circlet of -gold. A woman’s wedding ring. - -I took it from him. - -“Look inside,” commanded Poirot. - -I did so. Inside was an inscription in fine writing:— - - _From R., March 13th._ - -I looked at Poirot, but he was busy inspecting his appearance in a tiny -pocket glass. He paid particular attention to his mustaches, and none -at all to me. I saw that he did not intend to be communicative. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE PARLORMAID - - -We found Mrs. Ackroyd in the hall. With her was a small dried-up little -man, with an aggressive chin and sharp gray eyes, and “lawyer” written -all over him. - -“Mr. Hammond is staying to lunch with us,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “You know -Major Blunt, Mr. Hammond? And dear Dr. Sheppard—also a close friend of -poor Roger’s. And, let me see——” - -She paused, surveying Hercule Poirot in some perplexity. - -“This is M. Poirot, mother,” said Flora. “I told you about him this -morning.” - -“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Ackroyd vaguely. “Of course, my dear, of course. -He is to find Ralph, is he not?” - -“He is to find out who killed uncle,” said Flora. - -“Oh! my dear,” cried her mother. “Please! My poor nerves. I am a wreck -this morning, a positive wreck. Such a dreadful thing to happen. I -can’t help feeling that it must have been an accident of some kind. -Roger was so fond of handling queer curios. His hand must have slipped, -or something.” - -This theory was received in polite silence. I saw Poirot edge up to the -lawyer, and speak to him in a confidential undertone. They moved aside -into the embrasure of the window. I joined them—then hesitated. - -“Perhaps I’m intruding,” I said. - -“Not at all,” cried Poirot heartily. “You and I, M. le docteur, we -investigate this affair side by side. Without you I should be lost. I -desire a little information from the good Mr. Hammond.” - -“You are acting on behalf of Captain Ralph Paton, I understand,” said -the lawyer cautiously. - -Poirot shook his head. - -“Not so. I am acting in the interests of justice. Miss Ackroyd has -asked me to investigate the death of her uncle.” - -Mr. Hammond seemed slightly taken aback. - -“I cannot seriously believe that Captain Paton can be concerned in this -crime,” he said, “however strong the circumstantial evidence against -him may be. The mere fact that he was hard pressed for money——” - -“Was he hard pressed for money?” interpolated Poirot quickly. - -The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. - -“It was a chronic condition with Ralph Paton,” he said dryly. “Money -went through his hands like water. He was always applying to his -stepfather.” - -“Had he done so of late? During the last year, for instance?” - -“I cannot say. Mr. Ackroyd did not mention the fact to me.” - -“I comprehend. Mr. Hammond, I take it that you are acquainted with the -provisions of Mr. Ackroyd’s will?” - -“Certainly. That is my principal business here to-day.” - -“Then, seeing that I am acting for Miss Ackroyd, you will not object to -telling me the terms of that will?” - -“They are quite simple. Shorn of legal phraseology, and after paying -certain legacies and bequests——” - -“Such as——?” interrupted Poirot. - -Mr. Hammond seemed a little surprised. - -“A thousand pounds to his housekeeper, Miss Russell; fifty pounds -to the cook, Emma Cooper; five hundred pounds to his secretary, Mr. -Geoffrey Raymond. Then to various hospitals——” - -Poirot held up his hand. - -“Ah! the charitable bequests, they interest me not.” - -“Quite so. The income on ten thousand pounds’ worth of shares to be -paid to Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd during her lifetime. Miss Flora Ackroyd -inherits twenty thousand pounds outright. The residue—including this -property, and the shares in Ackroyd and Son—to his adopted son, Ralph -Paton.” - -“Mr. Ackroyd possessed a large fortune?” - -“A very large fortune. Captain Paton will be an exceedingly wealthy -young man.” - -There was a silence. Poirot and the lawyer looked at each other. - -“Mr. Hammond,” came Mrs. Ackroyd’s voice plaintively from the fireplace. - -The lawyer answered the summons. Poirot took my arm and drew me right -into the window. - -“Regard the irises,” he remarked in rather a loud voice. “Magnificent, -are they not? A straight and pleasing effect.” - -At the same time I felt the pressure of his hand on my arm, and he -added in a low tone:— - -“Do you really wish to aid me? To take part in this investigation?” - -“Yes, indeed,” I said eagerly. “There’s nothing I should like better. -You don’t know what a dull old fogey’s life I lead. Never anything out -of the ordinary.” - -“Good, we will be colleagues then. In a minute or two I fancy Major -Blunt will join us. He is not happy with the good mamma. Now there are -some things I want to know—but I do not wish to seem to want to know -them. You comprehend? So it will be your part to ask the questions.” - -“What questions do you want me to ask?” I asked apprehensively. - -“I want you to introduce the name of Mrs. Ferrars.” - -“Yes?” - -“Speak of her in a natural fashion. Ask him if he was down here when -her husband died. You understand the kind of thing I mean. And while he -replies, watch his face without seeming to watch it. _C’est compris?_” - -There was no time for more, for at that minute, as Poirot had -prophesied, Blunt left the others in his abrupt fashion and came over -to us. - -I suggested strolling on the terrace, and he acquiesced. Poirot stayed -behind. - -I stopped to examine a late rose. - -“How things change in the course of a day or so,” I observed. “I was -up here last Wednesday, I remember, walking up and down this same -terrace. Ackroyd was with me—full of spirits. And now—three days -later—Ackroyd’s dead, poor fellow, Mrs. Ferrars’s dead—you knew her, -didn’t you? But of course you did.” - -Blunt nodded his head. - -“Had you seen her since you’d been down this time?” - -“Went with Ackroyd to call. Last Tuesday, think it was. Fascinating -woman—but something queer about her. Deep—one would never know what she -was up to.” - -I looked into his steady gray eyes. Nothing there surely. I went on:— - -“I suppose you’d met her before.” - -“Last time I was here—she and her husband had just come here to live.” -He paused a minute and then added: “Rum thing, she had changed a lot -between then and now.” - -“How—changed?” I asked. - -“Looked ten years older.” - -“Were you down here when her husband died?” I asked, trying to make the -question sound as casual as possible. - -“No. From all I heard it would be a good riddance. Uncharitable, -perhaps, but the truth.” - -I agreed. - -“Ashley Ferrars was by no means a pattern husband,” I said cautiously. - -“Blackguard, I thought,” said Blunt. - -“No,” I said, “only a man with more money than was good for him.” - -“Oh! money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money—or -the lack of it.” - -“Which has been your particular trouble?” I asked. - -“I’ve enough for what I want. I’m one of the lucky ones.” - -“Indeed.” - -“I’m not too flush just now, as a matter of fact. Came into a legacy a -year ago, and like a fool let myself be persuaded into putting it into -some wild-cat scheme.” - -I sympathized, and narrated my own similar trouble. - -Then the gong pealed out, and we all went in to lunch. Poirot drew me -back a little. - -“_Eh! bien?_” - -“He’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure of it.” - -“Nothing—disturbing?” - -“He had a legacy just a year ago,” I said. “But why not? Why shouldn’t -he? I’ll swear the man is perfectly square and aboveboard.” - -“Without doubt, without doubt,” said Poirot soothingly. “Do not upset -yourself.” - -He spoke as though to a fractious child. - -We all trooped into the dining-room. It seemed incredible that less -than twenty-four hours had passed since I last sat at that table. - -Afterwards, Mrs. Ackroyd took me aside and sat down with me on a sofa. - -“I can’t help feeling a little hurt,” she murmured, producing a -handkerchief of the kind obviously not meant to be cried into. “Hurt, -I mean, by Roger’s lack of confidence in me. That twenty thousand -pounds ought to have been left to _me_—not to Flora. A mother could be -trusted to safeguard the interests of her child. A lack of trust, I -call it.” - -“You forget, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said, “Flora was Ackroyd’s own niece, a -blood relation. It would have been different had you been his sister -instead of his sister-in-law.” - -“As poor Cecil’s widow, I think my feelings ought to have been -considered,” said the lady, touching her eye-lashes gingerly with -the handkerchief. “But Roger was always most peculiar—not to say -_mean_—about money matters. It has been a most difficult position -for both Flora and myself. He did not even give the poor child an -allowance. He would pay her bills, you know, and even that with a good -deal of reluctance and asking what she wanted all those fal-lals for—so -like a man—but—now I’ve forgotten what it was I was going to say! -Oh, yes, not a penny we could call our own, you know. Flora resented -it—yes, I must say she resented it—very strongly. Though devoted to -her uncle, of course. But any girl would have resented it. Yes, I must -say Roger had very strange ideas about money. He wouldn’t even buy new -face towels, though I told him the old ones were in holes. And then,” -proceeded Mrs. Ackroyd, with a sudden leap highly characteristic of -her conversation, “to leave all that money—a thousand pounds—fancy, a -thousand pounds!—to that woman.” - -“What woman?” - -“That Russell woman. Something very queer about her, and so I’ve always -said. But Roger wouldn’t hear a word against her. Said she was a woman -of great force of character, and that he admired and respected her. -He was always going on about her rectitude and independence and moral -worth. _I_ think there’s something fishy about her. She was certainly -doing her best to marry Roger. But I soon put a stop to that. She’s -always hated me. Naturally. _I_ saw through her.” - -I began to wonder if there was any chance of stemming Mrs. Ackroyd’s -eloquence, and getting away. - -Mr. Hammond provided the necessary diversion by coming up to say -good-by. I seized my chance and rose also. - -“About the inquest,” I said. “Where would you prefer it to be held. -Here, or at the Three Boars?” - -Mrs. Ackroyd stared at me with a dropped jaw. - -“The inquest?” she asked, the picture of consternation. “But surely -there won’t have to be an inquest?” - -Mr. Hammond gave a dry little cough and murmured, “Inevitable. Under -the circumstances,” in two short little barks. - -“But surely Dr. Sheppard can arrange——” - -“There are limits to my powers of arrangement,” I said dryly. - -“If his death was an accident——” - -“He was murdered, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said brutally. - -She gave a little cry. - -“No theory of accident will hold water for a minute.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd looked at me in distress. I had no patience with what I -thought was her silly fear of unpleasantness. - -“If there’s an inquest, I—I shan’t have to answer questions and all -that, shall I?” she asked. - -“I don’t know what will be necessary,” I answered. “I imagine -Mr. Raymond will take the brunt of it off you. He knows all the -circumstances, and can give formal evidence of identification.” - -The lawyer assented with a little bow. - -“I really don’t think there is anything to dread, Mrs. Ackroyd,” he -said. “You will be spared all unpleasantness. Now, as to the question -of money, have you all you need for the present? I mean,” he added, as -she looked at him inquiringly, “ready money. Cash, you know. If not, I -can arrange to let you have whatever you require.” - -“That ought to be all right,” said Raymond, who was standing by. “Mr. -Ackroyd cashed a cheque for a hundred pounds yesterday.” - -“A hundred pounds?” - -“Yes. For wages and other expenses due to-day. At the moment it is -still intact.” - -“Where is this money? In his desk?” - -“No, he always kept his cash in his bedroom. In an old collar-box, to -be accurate. Funny idea, wasn’t it?” - -“I think,” said the lawyer, “we ought to make sure the money is there -before I leave.” - -“Certainly,” agreed the secretary. “I’ll take you up now.... Oh! I -forgot. The door’s locked.” - -Inquiry from Parker elicited the information that Inspector Raglan was -in the housekeeper’s room asking a few supplementary questions. A few -minutes later the inspector joined the party in the hall, bringing the -key with him. He unlocked the door and we passed into the lobby and up -the small staircase. At the top of the stairs the door into Ackroyd’s -bedroom stood open. Inside the room it was dark, the curtains were -drawn, and the bed was turned down just as it had been last night. The -inspector drew the curtains, letting in the sunlight, and Geoffrey -Raymond went to the top drawer of a rosewood bureau. - -“He kept his money like that, in an unlocked drawer. Just fancy,” -commented the inspector. - -The secretary flushed a little. - -“Mr. Ackroyd had perfect faith in the honesty of all the servants,” he -said hotly. - -“Oh! quite so,” said the inspector hastily. - -Raymond opened the drawer, took out a round leather collar-box from the -back of it, and opening it, drew out a thick wallet. - -“Here is the money,” he said, taking out a fat roll of notes. “You -will find the hundred intact, I know, for Mr. Ackroyd put it in the -collar-box in my presence last night when he was dressing for dinner, -and of course it has not been touched since.” - -Mr. Hammond took the roll from him and counted it. He looked up sharply. - -“A hundred pounds, you said. But there is only sixty here.” - -Raymond stared at him. - -“Impossible,” he cried, springing forward. Taking the notes from the -other’s hand, he counted them aloud. - -Mr. Hammond had been right. The total amounted to sixty pounds. - -“But—I can’t understand it,” cried the secretary, bewildered. - -Poirot asked a question. - -“You saw Mr. Ackroyd put this money away last night when he was -dressing for dinner? You are sure he had not paid away any of it -already?” - -“I’m sure he hadn’t. He even said, ‘I don’t want to take a hundred -pounds down to dinner with me. Too bulgy.’” - -“Then the affair is very simple,” remarked Poirot. “Either he paid out -that forty pounds sometime last evening, or else it has been stolen.” - -“That’s the matter in a nutshell,” agreed the inspector. He turned -to Mrs. Ackroyd. “Which of the servants would come in here yesterday -evening?” - -“I suppose the housemaid would turn down the bed.” - -“Who is she? What do you know about her?” - -“She’s not been here very long,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “But she’s a nice -ordinary country girl.” - -“I think we ought to clear this matter up,” said the inspector. “If -Mr. Ackroyd paid that money away himself, it may have a bearing on the -mystery of the crime. The other servants all right, as far as you know?” - -“Oh, I think so.” - -“Not missed anything before?” - -“No.” - -“None of them leaving, or anything like that?” - -“The parlormaid is leaving.” - -“When?” - -“She gave notice yesterday, I believe.” - -“To you?” - -“Oh, no. _I_ have nothing to do with the servants. Miss Russell attends -to the household matters.” - -The inspector remained lost in thought for a minute or two. Then he -nodded his head and remarked, “I think I’d better have a word with Miss -Russell, and I’ll see the girl Dale as well.” - -Poirot and I accompanied him to the housekeeper’s room. Miss Russell -received us with her usual sang-froid. - -Elsie Dale had been at Fernly five months. A nice girl, quick at her -duties, and most respectable. Good references. The last girl in the -world to take anything not belonging to her. - -What about the parlormaid? - -“She, too, was a most superior girl. Very quiet and ladylike. An -excellent worker.” - -“Then why is she leaving?” asked the inspector. - -Miss Russell pursed up her lips. - -“It was none of my doing. I understand Mr. Ackroyd found fault with -her yesterday afternoon. It was her duty to do the study, and she -disarranged some of the papers on his desk, I believe. He was very -annoyed about it, and she gave notice. At least, that is what I -understood from her, but perhaps you’d like to see her yourselves?” - -The inspector assented. I had already noticed the girl when she was -waiting on us at lunch. A tall girl, with a lot of brown hair rolled -tightly away at the back of her neck, and very steady gray eyes. She -came in answer to the housekeeper’s summons, and stood very straight -with those same gray eyes fixed on us. - -“You are Ursula Bourne?” asked the inspector. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“I understand you are leaving?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Why is that?” - -“I disarranged some papers on Mr. Ackroyd’s desk. He was very angry -about it, and I said I had better leave. He told me to go as soon as -possible.” - -“Were you in Mr. Ackroyd’s bedroom at all last night? Tidying up or -anything?” - -“No, sir. That is Elsie’s work. I never went near that part of the -house.” - -“I must tell you, my girl, that a large sum of money is missing from -Mr. Ackroyd’s room.” - -At last I saw her roused. A wave of color swept over her face. - -“I know nothing about any money. If you think I took it, and that that -is why Mr. Ackroyd dismissed me, you are wrong.” - -“I’m not accusing you of taking it, my girl,” said the inspector. -“Don’t flare up so.” - -The girl looked at him coldly. - -“You can search my things if you like,” she said disdainfully. “But you -won’t find anything.” - -Poirot suddenly interposed. - -“It was yesterday afternoon that Mr. Ackroyd dismissed you—or you -dismissed yourself, was it not?” he asked. - -The girl nodded. - -“How long did the interview last?” - -“The interview?” - -“Yes, the interview between you and Mr. Ackroyd in the study?” - -“I—I don’t know.” - -“Twenty minutes? Half an hour?” - -“Something like that.” - -“Not longer?” - -“Not longer than half an hour, certainly.” - -“Thank you, mademoiselle.” - -I looked curiously at him. He was rearranging a few objects on the -table, setting them straight with precise fingers. His eyes were -shining. - -“That’ll do,” said the inspector. - -Ursula Bourne disappeared. The inspector turned to Miss Russell. - -“How long has she been here? Have you got a copy of the reference you -had with her?” - -Without answering the first question, Miss Russell moved to an adjacent -bureau, opened one of the drawers, and took out a handful of letters -clipped together with a patent fastener. She selected one and handed it -to the inspector. - -“H’m,” said he. “Reads all right. Mrs. Richard Folliott, Marby Grange, -Marby. Who’s this woman?” - -“Quite good county people,” said Miss Russell. - -“Well,” said the inspector, handing it back, “let’s have a look at the -other one, Elsie Dale.” - -Elsie Dale was a big fair girl, with a pleasant but slightly stupid -face. She answered our questions readily enough, and showed much -distress and concern at the loss of the money. - -“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her,” observed the -inspector, after he had dismissed her. - -“What about Parker?” - -Miss Russell pursed her lips together and made no reply. - -“I’ve a feeling there’s something wrong about that man,” the inspector -continued thoughtfully. “The trouble is that I don’t quite see when he -got his opportunity. He’d be busy with his duties immediately after -dinner, and he’s got a pretty good alibi all through the evening. I -know, for I’ve been devoting particular attention to it. Well, thank -you very much, Miss Russell. We’ll leave things as they are for the -present. It’s highly probable Mr. Ackroyd paid that money away himself.” - -The housekeeper bade us a dry good-afternoon, and we took our leave. - -I left the house with Poirot. - -“I wonder,” I said, breaking the silence, “what the papers the girl -disarranged could have been for Ackroyd to have got into such a state -about them? I wonder if there is any clew there to the mystery.” - -“The secretary said there were no papers of particular importance on -the desk,” said Poirot quietly. - -“Yes, but——” I paused. - -“It strikes you as odd that Ackroyd should have flown into a rage about -so trivial a matter?” - -“Yes, it does rather.” - -“But was it a trivial matter?” - -“Of course,” I admitted, “we don’t know what those papers may have -been. But Raymond certainly said——” - -“Leave M. Raymond out of it for a minute. What did you think of that -girl?” - -“Which girl? The parlormaid?” - -“Yes, the parlormaid. Ursula Bourne.” - -“She seemed a nice girl,” I said hesitatingly. - -Poirot repeated my words, but whereas I had laid a slight stress on the -fourth word, he put it on the second. - -“She _seemed_ a nice girl—yes.” - -Then, after a minute’s silence, he took something from his pocket and -handed it to me. - -“See, my friend, I will show you something. Look there.” - -The paper he had handed me was that compiled by the inspector and given -by him to Poirot that morning. Following the pointing finger, I saw a -small cross marked in pencil opposite the name Ursula Bourne. - -“You may not have noticed it at the time, my good friend, but there was -one person on this list whose alibi had no kind of confirmation. Ursula -Bourne.” - -“You don’t think——” - -“Dr. Sheppard, I dare to think anything. Ursula Bourne may have killed -Mr. Ackroyd, but I confess I can see no motive for her doing so. Can -you?” - -He looked at me very hard—so hard that I felt uncomfortable. - -“Can you?” he repeated. - -“No motive whatsoever,” I said firmly. - -His gaze relaxed. He frowned and murmured to himself:— - -“Since the blackmailer was a man, it follows that she cannot be the -blackmailer, then——” - -I coughed. - -“As far as that goes——” I began doubtfully. - -He spun round on me. - -“What? What are you going to say?” - -“Nothing. Nothing. Only that, strictly speaking, Mrs. Ferrars in her -letter mentioned a _person_—she didn’t actually specify a man. But we -took it for granted, Ackroyd and I, that it _was_ a man.” - -Poirot did not seem to be listening to me. He was muttering to himself -again. - -“But then it is possible after all—yes, certainly it is possible—but -then—ah! I must rearrange my ideas. Method, order; never have I needed -them more. Everything must fit in—in its appointed place—otherwise I am -on the wrong tack.” - -He broke off, and whirled round upon me again. - -“Where is Marby?” - -“It’s on the other side of Cranchester.” - -“How far away?” - -“Oh!—fourteen miles, perhaps.” - -“Would it be possible for you to go there? To-morrow, say?” - -“To-morrow? Let me see, that’s Sunday. Yes, I could arrange it. What do -you want me to do there?” - -“See this Mrs. Folliott. Find out all you can about Ursula Bourne.” - -“Very well. But—I don’t much care for the job.” - -“It is not the time to make difficulties. A man’s life may hang on -this.” - -“Poor Ralph,” I said with a sigh. “You believe him to be innocent, -though?” - -Poirot looked at me very gravely. - -“Do you want to know the truth?” - -“Of course.” - -“Then you shall have it. My friend, everything points to the assumption -that he is guilty.” - -“What!” I exclaimed. - -Poirot nodded. - -“Yes, that stupid inspector—for he is stupid—has everything pointing -his way. I seek for the truth—and the truth leads me every time to -Ralph Paton. Motive, opportunity, means. But I will leave no stone -unturned. I promised Mademoiselle Flora. And she was very sure, that -little one. But very sure indeed.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - POIROT PAYS A CALL - - -I was slightly nervous when I rang the bell at Marby Grange the -following afternoon. I wondered very much what Poirot expected to -find out. He had entrusted the job to me. Why? Was it because, as -in the case of questioning Major Blunt, he wished to remain in the -background? The wish, intelligible in the first case, seemed to me -quite meaningless here. - -My meditations were interrupted by the advent of a smart parlormaid. - -Yes, Mrs. Folliott was at home. I was ushered into a big drawing-room, -and looked round me curiously as I waited for the mistress of the -house. A large bare room, some good bits of old china, and some -beautiful etchings, shabby covers and curtains. A lady’s room in every -sense of the term. - -I turned from the inspection of a Bartolozzi on the wall as Mrs. -Folliott came into the room. She was a tall woman, with untidy brown -hair, and a very winning smile. - -“Dr. Sheppard,” she said hesitatingly. - -“That is my name,” I replied. “I must apologize for calling upon you -like this, but I wanted some information about a parlormaid previously -employed by you, Ursula Bourne.” - -With the utterance of the name the smile vanished from her face, and -all the cordiality froze out of her manner. She looked uncomfortable -and ill at ease. - -“Ursula Bourne?” she said hesitatingly. - -“Yes,” I said. “Perhaps you don’t remember the name?” - -“Oh, yes, of course. I—I remember perfectly.” - -“She left you just over a year ago, I understand?” - -“Yes. Yes, she did. That is quite right.” - -“And you were satisfied with her whilst she was with you? How long was -she with you, by the way?” - -“Oh! a year or two—I can’t remember exactly how long. She—she is very -capable. I’m sure you will find her quite satisfactory. I didn’t know -she was leaving Fernly. I hadn’t the least idea of it.” - -“Can you tell me anything about her?” I asked. - -“Anything about her?” - -“Yes, where she comes from, who her people are—that sort of thing?” - -Mrs. Folliott’s face wore more than ever its frozen look. - -“I don’t know at all.” - -“Who was she with before she came to you?” - -“I’m afraid I don’t remember.” - -There was a spark of anger now underlying her nervousness. She flung up -her head in a gesture that was vaguely familiar. - -“Is it really necessary to ask all these questions?” - -“Not at all,” I said, with an air of surprise and a tinge of apology -in my manner. “I had no idea you would mind answering them. I am very -sorry.” - -Her anger left her and she became confused again. - -“Oh! I don’t mind answering them. I assure you I don’t. Why should I? -It—it just seemed a little odd, you know. That’s all. A little odd.” - -One advantage of being a medical practitioner is that you can usually -tell when people are lying to you. I should have known from Mrs. -Folliott’s manner, if from nothing else, that she did mind answering my -questions—minded intensely. She was thoroughly uncomfortable and upset, -and there was plainly some mystery in the background. I judged her to -be a woman quite unused to deception of any kind, and consequently -rendered acutely uneasy when forced to practice it. A child could have -seen through her. - -But it was also clear that she had no intention of telling me anything -further. Whatever the mystery centering around Ursula Bourne might be, -I was not going to learn it through Mrs. Folliott. - -Defeated, I apologized once more for disturbing her, took my hat and -departed. - -I went to see a couple of patients and arrived home about six o’clock. -Caroline was sitting beside the wreck of tea things. She had that -look of suppressed exultation on her face which I know only too well. -It is a sure sign with her, of either the getting or the giving of -information. I wondered which it had been. - -“I’ve had a very interesting afternoon,” began Caroline as I dropped -into my own particular easy chair, and stretched out my feet to the -inviting blaze in the fireplace. - -“Have you?” I asked. “Miss Ganett drop in to tea?” - -Miss Ganett is one of the chief of our newsmongers. - -“Guess again,” said Caroline with intense complacency. - -I guessed several times, working slowly through all the members of -Caroline’s Intelligence Corps. My sister received each guess with -a triumphant shake of the head. In the end she volunteered the -information herself. - -“M. Poirot!” she said. “Now what do you think of that?” - -I thought a good many things of it, but I was careful not to say them -to Caroline. - -“Why did he come?” I asked. - -“To see me, of course. He said that knowing my brother so well, he -hoped he might be permitted to make the acquaintance of his charming -sister—your charming sister, I’ve got mixed up, but you know what I -mean.” - -“What did he talk about?” I asked. - -“He told me a lot about himself and his cases. You know that Prince -Paul of Mauretania—the one who’s just married a dancer?” - -“Yes?” - -“I saw a most intriguing paragraph about her in Society Snippets the -other day, hinting that she was really a Russian Grand Duchess—one -of the Czar’s daughters who managed to escape from the Bolsheviks. -Well, it seems that M. Poirot solved a baffling murder mystery that -threatened to involve them both. Prince Paul was beside himself with -gratitude.” - -“Did he give him an emerald tie pin the size of a plover’s egg?” I -inquired sarcastically. - -“He didn’t mention it. Why?” - -“Nothing,” I said. “I thought it was always done. It is in detective -fiction anyway. The super detective always has his rooms littered with -rubies and pearls and emeralds from grateful Royal clients.” - -“It’s very interesting to hear about these things from the inside,” -said my sister complacently. - -It would be—to Caroline. I could not but admire the ingenuity of M. -Hercule Poirot, who had selected unerringly the case of all others that -would most appeal to an elderly maiden lady living in a small village. - -“Did he tell you if the dancer was really a Grand Duchess?” I inquired. - -“He was not at liberty to speak,” said Caroline importantly. - -I wondered how far Poirot had strained the truth in talking to -Caroline—probably not at all. He had conveyed his innuendoes by means -of his eyebrows and his shoulders. - -“And after all this,” I remarked, “I suppose you were ready to eat out -of his hand.” - -“Don’t be coarse, James. I don’t know where you get these vulgar -expressions from.” - -“Probably from my only link with the outside world—my patients. -Unfortunately my practice does not lie amongst Royal princes and -interesting Russian émigrés.” - -Caroline pushed her spectacles up and looked at me. - -“You seem very grumpy, James. It must be your liver. A blue pill, I -think, to-night.” - -To see me in my own home, you would never imagine that I was a doctor -of medicine. Caroline does the home prescribing both for herself and me. - -“Damn my liver,” I said irritably. “Did you talk about the murder at -all?” - -“Well, naturally, James. What else is there to talk about locally? -I was able to set M. Poirot right upon several points. He was very -grateful to me. He said I had the makings of a born detective in me—and -a wonderful psychological insight into human nature.” - -Caroline was exactly like a cat that is full to overflowing with rich -cream. She was positively purring. - -“He talked a lot about the little gray cells of the brain, and of their -functions. His own, he says, are of the first quality.” - -“He would say so,” I remarked bitterly. “Modesty is certainly not his -middle name.” - -“I wish you would not be so horribly American, James. He thought it -very important that Ralph should be found as soon as possible, and -induced to come forward and give an account of himself. He says that -his disappearance will produce a very unfortunate impression at the -inquest.” - -“And what did you say to that?” - -“I agreed with him,” said Caroline importantly. “And I was able to tell -him the way people were already talking about it.” - -“Caroline,” I said sharply, “did you tell M. Poirot what you overheard -in the wood that day?” - -“I did,” said Caroline complacently. - -I got up and began to walk about. - -“You realize what you’re doing, I hope,” I jerked out. “You’re putting -a halter round Ralph Paton’s neck as surely as you’re sitting in that -chair.” - -“Not at all,” said Caroline, quite unruffled. “I was surprised _you_ -hadn’t told him.” - -“I took very good care not to,” I said. “I’m fond of that boy.” - -“So am I. That’s why I say you’re talking nonsense. I don’t believe -Ralph did it, and so the truth can’t hurt him, and we ought to give M. -Poirot all the help we can. Why, think, very likely Ralph was out with -that identical girl on the night of the murder, and if so, he’s got a -perfect alibi.” - -“If he’s got a perfect alibi,” I retorted, “why doesn’t he come forward -and say so?” - -“Might get the girl into trouble,” said Caroline sapiently. “But if M. -Poirot gets hold of her, and puts it to her as her duty, she’ll come -forward of her own accord and clear Ralph.” - -“You seem to have invented a romantic fairy story of your own,” I said. -“You read too many trashy novels, Caroline. I’ve always told you so.” - -I dropped into my chair again. - -“Did Poirot ask you any more questions?” I inquired. - -“Only about the patients you had that morning.” - -“The patients?” I demanded, unbelievingly. - -“Yes, your surgery patients. How many and who they were?” - -“Do you mean to say you were able to tell him that?” I demanded. - -Caroline is really amazing. - -“Why not?” asked my sister triumphantly. “I can see the path up to the -surgery door perfectly from this window. And I’ve got an excellent -memory, James. Much better than yours, let me tell you.” - -“I’m sure you have,” I murmured mechanically. - -My sister went on, checking the names on her fingers. - -“There was old Mrs. Bennett, and that boy from the farm with the bad -finger, Dolly Grice to have a needle out of her finger; that American -steward off the liner. Let me see—that’s four. Yes, and old George -Evans with his ulcer. And lastly——” - -She paused significantly. - -“Well?” - -Caroline brought out her climax triumphantly. She hissed in the most -approved style—aided by the fortunate number of s’s at her disposal. - -“_Miss Russell!_” - -She sat back in her chair and looked at me meaningly, and when Caroline -looks at you meaningly, it is impossible to miss it. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, quite untruthfully. “Why -shouldn’t Miss Russell consult me about her bad knee?” - -“Bad knee,” said Caroline. “Fiddlesticks! No more bad knee than you and -I. She was after something else.” - -“What?” I asked. - -Caroline had to admit that she didn’t know. - -“But depend upon it, that was what he was trying to get at, M. Poirot, -I mean. There’s something fishy about that woman, and he knows it.” - -“Precisely the remark Mrs. Ackroyd made to me yesterday,” I said. “That -there was something fishy about Miss Russell.” - -“Ah!” said Caroline darkly, “Mrs. Ackroyd! There’s another!” - -“Another what?” - -Caroline refused to explain her remarks. She merely nodded her head -several times, rolled up her knitting, and went upstairs to don the -high mauve silk blouse and the gold locket which she calls dressing for -dinner. - -I stayed there staring into the fire and thinking over Caroline’s -words. Had Poirot really come to gain information about Miss Russell, -or was it only Caroline’s tortuous mind that interpreted everything -according to her own ideas? - -There had certainly been nothing in Miss Russell’s manner that morning -to arouse suspicion. At least—— - -I remembered her persistent conversation on the subject of drug-taking -and from that she had led the conversation to poisons and poisoning. -But there was nothing in that. Ackroyd had not been poisoned. Still, it -was odd.... - -I heard Caroline’s voice, rather acid in note, calling from the top of -the stairs. - -“James, you will be late for dinner.” - -I put some coal on the fire and went upstairs obediently. - -It is well at any price to have peace in the home. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - ROUND THE TABLE - - -A joint inquest was held on Monday. - -I do not propose to give the proceedings in detail. To do so would only -be to go over the same ground again and again. By arrangement with the -police, very little was allowed to come out. I gave evidence as to the -cause of Ackroyd’s death and the probable time. The absence of Ralph -Paton was commented on by the coroner, but not unduly stressed. - -Afterwards, Poirot and I had a few words with Inspector Raglan. The -inspector was very grave. - -“It looks bad, Mr. Poirot,” he said. “I’m trying to judge the thing -fair and square. I’m a local man, and I’ve seen Captain Paton many -times in Cranchester. I’m not wanting him to be the guilty one—but it’s -bad whichever way you look at it. If he’s innocent, why doesn’t he come -forward? We’ve got evidence against him, but it’s just possible that -that evidence could be explained away. Then why doesn’t he give an -explanation?” - -A lot more lay behind the inspector’s words than I knew at the time. -Ralph’s description had been wired to every port and railway station -in England. The police everywhere were on the alert. His rooms in town -were watched, and any houses he had been known to be in the habit -of frequenting. With such a _cordon_ it seemed impossible that Ralph -should be able to evade detection. He had no luggage, and, as far as -any one knew, no money. - -“I can’t find any one who saw him at the station that night,” continued -the inspector. “And yet he’s well known down here, and you’d think -somebody would have noticed him. There’s no news from Liverpool either.” - -“You think he went to Liverpool?” queried Poirot. - -“Well, it’s on the cards. That telephone message from the station, -just three minutes before the Liverpool express left—there ought to be -something in that.” - -“Unless it was deliberately intended to throw you off the scent. That -might just possibly be the point of the telephone message.” - -“That’s an idea,” said the inspector eagerly. “Do you really think -that’s the explanation of the telephone call?” - -“My friend,” said Poirot gravely, “I do not know. But I will tell you -this: I believe that when we find the explanation of that telephone -call we shall find the explanation of the murder.” - -“You said something like that before, I remember,” I observed, looking -at him curiously. - -Poirot nodded. - -“I always come back to it,” he said seriously. - -“It seems to me utterly irrelevant,” I declared. - -“I wouldn’t say that,” demurred the inspector. “But I must confess I -think Mr. Poirot here harps on it a little too much. We’ve better clews -than that. The fingerprints on the dagger, for instance.” - -Poirot became suddenly very foreign in manner, as he often did when -excited over anything. - -“M. l’Inspecteur,” he said, “beware of the blind—the blind—_comment -dire?_—the little street that has no end to it.” - -Inspector Raglan stared, but I was quicker. - -“You mean a blind alley?” I said. - -“That is it—the blind street that leads nowhere. So it may be with -those fingerprints—they may lead you nowhere.” - -“I don’t see how that can well be,” said the police officer. “I suppose -you’re hinting that they’re faked? I’ve read of such things being done, -though I can’t say I’ve ever come across it in my experience. But fake -or true—they’re bound to lead _somewhere_.” - -Poirot merely shrugged his shoulders, flinging out his arms wide. - -The inspector then showed us various enlarged photographs of the -fingerprints, and proceeded to become technical on the subject of loops -and whorls. - -“Come now,” he said at last, annoyed by Poirot’s detached manner, -“you’ve got to admit that those prints were made by some one who was in -the house that night?” - -“_Bien entendu_,” said Poirot, nodding his head. - -“Well, I’ve taken the prints of every member of the household, every -one, mind you, from the old lady down to the kitchenmaid.” - -I don’t think Mrs. Ackroyd would enjoy being referred to as the old -lady. She must spend a considerable amount on cosmetics. - -“Every one’s,” repeated the inspector fussily. - -“Including mine,” I said dryly. - -“Very well. None of them correspond. That leaves us two alternatives. -Ralph Paton, or the mysterious stranger the doctor here tells us about. -When we get hold of those two——” - -“Much valuable time may have been lost,” broke in Poirot. - -“I don’t quite get you, Mr. Poirot?” - -“You have taken the prints of every one in the house, you say,” -murmured Poirot. “Is that the exact truth you are telling me there, M. -l’Inspecteur?” - -“Certainly.” - -“Without overlooking any one?” - -“Without overlooking any one.” - -“The quick or the dead?” - -For a moment the inspector looked bewildered at what he took to be a -religious observation. Then he reacted slowly. - -“You mean——” - -“The dead, M. l’Inspecteur.” - -The inspector still took a minute or two to understand. - -“I am suggesting,” said Poirot placidly, “that the fingerprints on the -dagger handle are those of Mr. Ackroyd himself. It is an easy matter to -verify. His body is still available.” - -“But why? What would be the point of it? You’re surely not suggesting -suicide, Mr. Poirot?” - -“Ah! no. My theory is that the murderer wore gloves or wrapped -something round his hand. After the blow was struck, he picked up the -victim’s hand and closed it round the dagger handle.” - -“But why?” - -Poirot shrugged his shoulders again. - -“To make a confusing case even more confusing.” - -“Well,” said the inspector, “I’ll look into it. What gave you the idea -in the first place?” - -“When you were so kind as to show me the dagger and draw attention to -the fingerprints. I know very little of loops and whorls—see, I confess -my ignorance frankly. But it did occur to me that the position of the -prints was somewhat awkward. Not so would I have held a dagger in order -to strike. Naturally, with the right hand brought up over the shoulder -backwards, it would have been difficult to put it in exactly the right -position.” - -Inspector Raglan stared at the little man. Poirot, with an air of great -unconcern, flecked a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. - -“Well,” said the inspector, “it’s an idea. I’ll look into it all right, -but don’t you be disappointed if nothing comes of it.” - -He endeavored to make his tone kindly and patronizing. Poirot watched -him go off. Then he turned to me with twinkling eyes. - -“Another time,” he observed, “I must be more careful of his _amour -propre_. And now that we are left to our own devices, what do you -think, my good friend, of a little reunion of the family?” - -The “little reunion,” as Poirot called it, took place about half an -hour later. We sat round the table in the dining-room at Fernly—Poirot -at the head of the table, like the chairman of some ghastly board -meeting. The servants were not present, so we were six in all. Mrs. -Ackroyd, Flora, Major Blunt, young Raymond, Poirot, and myself. - -When every one was assembled, Poirot rose and bowed. - -“Messieurs, mesdames, I have called you together for a certain -purpose.” He paused. “To begin with, I want to make a very special plea -to mademoiselle.” - -“To me?” said Flora. - -“Mademoiselle, you are engaged to Captain Ralph Paton. If any one -is in his confidence, you are. I beg you, most earnestly, if you -know of his whereabouts, to persuade him to come forward. One little -minute”—as Flora raised her head to speak—“say nothing till you have -well reflected. Mademoiselle, his position grows daily more dangerous. -If he had come forward at once, no matter how damning the facts, he -might have had a chance of explaining them away. But this silence—this -flight—what can it mean? Surely only one thing, knowledge of guilt. -Mademoiselle, if you really believe in his innocence, persuade him to -come forward before it is too late.” - -Flora’s face had gone very white. - -“Too late!” she repeated, very low. - -Poirot leant forward, looking at her. - -“See now, mademoiselle,” he said very gently, “it is Papa Poirot who -asks you this. The old Papa Poirot who has much knowledge and much -experience. I would not seek to entrap you, mademoiselle. Will you not -trust me—and tell me where Ralph Paton is hiding?” - -The girl rose, and stood facing him. - -“M. Poirot,” she said in a clear voice, “I swear to you—swear -solemnly—that I have no idea where Ralph is, and that I have neither -seen him nor heard from him either on the day of—of the murder, or -since.” - -She sat down again. Poirot gazed at her in silence for a minute or two, -then he brought his hand down on the table with a sharp rap. - -“_Bien!_ That is that,” he said. His face hardened. “Now I appeal to -these others who sit round this table, Mrs. Ackroyd, Major Blunt, Dr. -Sheppard, Mr. Raymond. You are all friends and intimates of the missing -man. If you know where Ralph Paton is hiding, speak out.” - -There was a long silence. Poirot looked to each in turn. - -“I beg of you,” he said in a low voice, “speak out.” - -But still there was silence, broken at last by Mrs. Ackroyd. - -“I must say,” she observed in a plaintive voice, “that Ralph’s absence -is most peculiar—most peculiar indeed. Not to come forward at such a -time. It looks, you know, as though there were something _behind_ it. -I can’t help thinking, Flora dear, that it was a very fortunate thing -your engagement was never formally announced.” - -“Mother!” cried Flora angrily. - -“Providence,” declared Mrs. Ackroyd. “I have a devout belief in -Providence—a divinity that shapes our ends, as Shakespeare’s beautiful -line runs.” - -“Surely you don’t make the Almighty directly responsible for -thick ankles, Mrs. Ackroyd, do you?” asked Geoffrey Raymond, his -irresponsible laugh ringing out. - -His idea was, I think, to loosen the tension, but Mrs. Ackroyd threw -him a glance of reproach and took out her handkerchief. - -“Flora has been saved a terrible amount of notoriety and -unpleasantness. Not for a moment that I think dear Ralph had anything -to do with poor Roger’s death. I _don’t_ think so. But then I have a -trusting heart—I always have had, ever since a child. I am loath to -believe the worst of any one. But, of course, one must remember that -Ralph was in several air raids as a young boy. The results are apparent -long after, sometimes, they say. People are not responsible for their -actions in the least. They lose control, you know, without being able -to help it.” - -“Mother,” cried Flora, “you don’t think Ralph did it?” - -“Come, Mrs. Ackroyd,” said Blunt. - -“I don’t know what to think,” said Mrs. Ackroyd tearfully. “It’s all -very upsetting. What would happen to the estate, I wonder, if Ralph -were found guilty?” - -Raymond pushed his chair away from the table violently. Major Blunt -remained very quiet, looking thoughtfully at her. “Like shell-shock, -you know,” said Mrs. Ackroyd obstinately, “and I dare say Roger kept -him very short of money—with the best intentions, of course. I can see -you are all against me, but I do think it is very odd that Ralph has -not come forward, and I must say I am thankful Flora’s engagement was -never announced formally.” - -“It will be to-morrow,” said Flora in a clear voice. - -“Flora!” cried her mother, aghast. - -Flora had turned to the secretary. - -“Will you send the announcement to the _Morning Post_ and the _Times_, -please, Mr. Raymond.” - -“If you are sure that it is wise, Miss Ackroyd,” he replied gravely. - -She turned impulsively to Blunt. - -“You understand,” she said. “What else can I do? As things are, I must -stand by Ralph. Don’t you see that I must?” - -She looked very searchingly at him, and after a long pause he nodded -abruptly. - -Mrs. Ackroyd burst out into shrill protests. Flora remained unmoved. -Then Raymond spoke. - -“I appreciate your motives, Miss Ackroyd. But don’t you think you’re -being rather precipitate? Wait a day or two.” - -“To-morrow,” said Flora, in a clear voice. “It’s no good, mother, going -on like this. Whatever else I am, I’m not disloyal to my friends.” - -“M. Poirot,” Mrs. Ackroyd appealed tearfully, “can’t you say anything -at all?” - -“Nothing to be said,” interpolated Blunt. “She’s doing the right thing. -I’ll stand by her through thick and thin.” - -Flora held out her hand to him. - -“Thank you, Major Blunt,” she said. - -“Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, “will you let an old man congratulate you -on your courage and your loyalty? And will you not misunderstand me if -I ask you—ask you most solemnly—to postpone the announcement you speak -of for at least two days more?” - -Flora hesitated. - -“I ask it in Ralph Paton’s interests as much as in yours, mademoiselle. -You frown. You do not see how that can be. But I assure you that it -is so. _Pas de blagues_. You put the case into my hands—you must not -hamper me now.” - -Flora paused a few minutes before replying. - -“I do not like it,” she said at last, “but I will do what you say.” - -She sat down again at the table. - -“And now, messieurs et mesdames,” said Poirot rapidly, “I will continue -with what I was about to say. Understand this, I mean to arrive at -the truth. The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and -beautiful to the seeker after it. I am much aged, my powers may not -be what they were.” Here he clearly expected a contradiction. “In all -probability this is the last case I shall ever investigate. But Hercule -Poirot does not end with a failure. Messieurs et mesdames, I tell you, -I mean to _know_. And I shall know—in spite of you all.” - -He brought out the last words provocatively, hurling them in our face -as it were. I think we all flinched back a little, excepting Geoffrey -Raymond, who remained good humored and imperturbable as usual. - -“How do you mean—in spite of us all?” he asked, with slightly raised -eyebrows. - -“But—just that, monsieur. Every one of you in this room is concealing -something from me.” He raised his hand as a faint murmur of protest -arose. “Yes, yes, I know what I am saying. It may be something -unimportant—trivial—which is supposed to have no bearing on the case, -but there it is. _Each one of you has something to hide._ Come, now, am -I right?” - -His glance, challenging and accusing, swept round the table. And every -pair of eyes dropped before his. Yes, mine as well. - -“I am answered,” said Poirot, with a curious laugh. He got up from his -seat. “I appeal to you all. Tell me the truth—the whole truth.” There -was a silence. “Will no one speak?” - -He gave the same short laugh again. - -“_C’est dommage_,” he said, and went out. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE GOOSE QUILL - - -That evening, at Poirot’s request, I went over to his house after -dinner. Caroline saw me depart with visible reluctance. I think she -would have liked to have accompanied me. - -Poirot greeted me hospitably. He had placed a bottle of Irish whisky -(which I detest) on a small table, with a soda water siphon and a -glass. He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a -favorite beverage of his, I discovered later. - -He inquired politely after my sister, whom he declared to be a most -interesting woman. - -“I’m afraid you’ve been giving her a swelled head,” I said dryly. “What -about Sunday afternoon?” - -He laughed and twinkled. - -“I always like to employ the expert,” he remarked obscurely, but he -refused to explain the remark. - -“You got all the local gossip anyway,” I remarked. “True, and untrue.” - -“And a great deal of valuable information,” he added quietly. - -“Such as——?” - -He shook his head. - -“Why not have told me the truth?” he countered. “In a place like this, -all Ralph Paton’s doings were bound to be known. If your sister had not -happened to pass through the wood that day somebody else would have -done so.” - -“I suppose they would,” I said grumpily. “What about this interest of -yours in my patients?” - -Again he twinkled. - -“Only one of them, doctor. Only one of them.” - -“The last?” I hazarded. - -“I find Miss Russell a study of the most interesting,” he said -evasively. - -“Do you agree with my sister and Mrs. Ackroyd that there is something -fishy about her?” I asked. - -“Eh? What do you say—fishy?” - -I explained to the best of my ability. - -“And they say that, do they?” - -“Didn’t my sister convey as much to you yesterday afternoon?” - -“_C’est possible._” - -“For no reason whatever,” I declared. - -“_Les femmes_,” generalized Poirot. “They are marvelous! They invent -haphazard—and by miracle they are right. Not that it is that, really. -Women observe subconsciously a thousand little details, without knowing -that they are doing so. Their subconscious mind adds these little -things together—and they call the result intuition. Me, I am very -skilled in psychology. I know these things.” - -He swelled his chest out importantly, looking so ridiculous, that I -found it difficult not to burst out laughing. Then he took a small sip -of his chocolate, and carefully wiped his mustache. - -“I wish you’d tell me,” I burst out, “what you really think of it all?” - -He put down his cup. - -“You wish that?” - -“I do.” - -“You have seen what I have seen. Should not our ideas be the same?” - -“I’m afraid you’re laughing at me,” I said stiffly. “Of course, I’ve no -experience of matters of this kind.” - -Poirot smiled at me indulgently. - -“You are like the little child who wants to know the way the engine -works. You wish to see the affair, not as the family doctor sees it, -but with the eye of a detective who knows and cares for no one—to whom -they are all strangers and all equally liable to suspicion.” - -“You put it very well,” I said. - -“So I give you then, a little lecture. The first thing is to get a -clear history of what happened that evening—always bearing in mind that -the person who speaks may be lying.” - -I raised my eyebrows. - -“Rather a suspicious attitude.” - -“But necessary—I assure you, necessary. Now first—Dr. Sheppard leaves -the house at ten minutes to nine. How do I know that?” - -“Because I told you so.” - -“But you might not be speaking the truth—or the watch you went by might -be wrong. But Parker also says that you left the house at ten minutes -to nine. So we accept that statement and pass on. At nine o’clock you -run into a man—and here we come to what we will call the Romance of the -Mysterious Stranger—just outside the Park gates. How do I know that -that is so?” - -“I told you so,” I began again, but Poirot interrupted me with a -gesture of impatience. - -“Ah! but it is that you are a little stupid to-night, my friend. _You_ -know that it is so—but how am _I_ to know? _Eh bien_, I am able to -tell you that the Mysterious Stranger was not a hallucination on your -part, because the maid of a Miss Ganett met him a few minutes before -you did, and of her too he inquired the way to Fernly Park. We accept -his presence, therefore, and we can be fairly sure of two things about -him—that he was a stranger to the neighborhood, and that whatever his -object in going to Fernly, there was no great secrecy about it, since -he twice asked the way there.” - -“Yes,” I said, “I see that.” - -“Now I have made it my business to find out more about this man. He had -a drink at the Three Boars, I learn, and the barmaid there says that he -spoke with an American accent and mentioned having just come over from -the States. Did it strike you that he had an American accent?” - -“Yes, I think he had,” I said, after a minute or two, during which I -cast my mind back; “but a very slight one.” - -“_Précisément._ There is also this which, you will remember, I picked -up in the summer-house?” - -He held out to me the little quill. I looked at it curiously. Then a -memory of something I had read stirred in me. - -Poirot, who had been watching my face, nodded. - -“Yes, heroin ‘snow.’ Drug-takers carry it like this, and sniff it up -the nose.” - -“Diamorphine hydrochloride,” I murmured mechanically. - -“This method of taking the drug is very common on the other side. -Another proof, if we wanted one, that the man came from Canada or the -States.” - -“What first attracted your attention to that summer-house?” I asked -curiously. - -“My friend the inspector took it for granted that any one using that -path did so as a short cut to the house, but as soon as I saw the -summer-house, I realized that the same path would be taken by any one -using the summer-house as a rendezvous. Now it seems fairly certain -that the stranger came neither to the front nor to the back door. Then -did some one from the house go out and meet him? If so, what could be a -more convenient place than that little summer-house? I searched it with -the hope that I might find some clew inside. I found two, the scrap of -cambric and the quill.” - -“And the scrap of cambric?” I asked curiously. “What about that?” - -Poirot raised his eyebrows. - -“You do not use your little gray cells,” he remarked dryly. “The scrap -of starched cambric should be obvious.” - -“Not very obvious to me.” I changed the subject. “Anyway,” I said, -“this man went to the summer-house to meet somebody. Who was that -somebody?” - -“Exactly the question,” said Poirot. “You will remember that Mrs. -Ackroyd and her daughter came over from Canada to live here?” - -“Is that what you meant to-day when you accused them of hiding the -truth?” - -“Perhaps. Now another point. What did you think of the parlormaid’s -story?” - -“What story?” - -“The story of her dismissal. Does it take half an hour to dismiss a -servant? Was the story of those important papers a likely one? And -remember, though she says she was in her bedroom from nine-thirty until -ten o’clock, there is no one to confirm her statement.” - -“You bewilder me,” I said. - -“To me it grows clearer. But tell me now your own ideas and theories.” - -I drew a piece of paper from my pocket. - -“I just scribbled down a few suggestions,” I said apologetically. - -“But excellent—you have method. Let us hear them.” - -I read out in a somewhat embarrassed voice. - -“To begin with, one must look at the thing logically——” - -“Just what my poor Hastings used to say,” interrupted Poirot, “but -alas! he never did so.” - -“_Point No. 1._—Mr. Ackroyd was heard talking to some one at half-past -nine. - -“_Point No. 2._—At some time during the evening Ralph Paton must have -come in through the window, as evidenced by the prints of his shoes. - -“_Point No. 3._—Mr. Ackroyd was nervous that evening, and would only -have admitted some one he knew. - -“_Point No. 4._—The person with Mr. Ackroyd at nine-thirty was asking -for money. We know Ralph Paton was in a scrape. - -“_These four points go to show that the person with Mr. Ackroyd at -nine-thirty was Ralph Paton. But we know that Mr. Ackroyd was alive at -a quarter to ten, therefore it was not Ralph who killed him. Ralph left -the window open. Afterwards the murderer came in that way._” - -“And who was the murderer?” inquired Poirot. - -“The American stranger. He may have been in league with Parker, and -possibly in Parker we have the man who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars. If -so, Parker may have heard enough to realize the game was up, have told -his accomplice so, and the latter did the crime with the dagger which -Parker gave him.” - -“It is a theory that,” admitted Poirot. “Decidedly you have cells of a -kind. But it leaves a good deal unaccounted for.” - -“Such as——?” - -“The telephone call, the pushed-out chair——” - -“Do you really think the latter important?” I interrupted. - -“Perhaps not,” admitted my friend. “It may have been pulled out -by accident, and Raymond or Blunt may have shoved it into place -unconsciously under the stress of emotion. Then there is the missing -forty pounds.” - -“Given by Ackroyd to Ralph,” I suggested. “He may have reconsidered his -first refusal.” - -“That still leaves one thing unexplained?” - -“What?” - -“Why was Blunt so certain in his own mind that it was Raymond with Mr. -Ackroyd at nine-thirty?” - -“He explained that,” I said. - -“You think so? I will not press the point. Tell me instead, what were -Ralph Paton’s reasons for disappearing?” - -“That’s rather more difficult,” I said slowly. “I shall have to speak -as a medical man. Ralph’s nerves must have gone phut! If he suddenly -found out that his uncle had been murdered within a few minutes of his -leaving him—after, perhaps, a rather stormy interview—well, he might -get the wind up and clear right out. Men have been known to do that—act -guiltily when they’re perfectly innocent.” - -“Yes, that is true,” said Poirot. “But we must not lose sight of one -thing.” - -“I know what you’re going to say,” I remarked: “motive. Ralph Paton -inherits a great fortune by his uncle’s death.” - -“That is one motive,” agreed Poirot. - -“One?” - -“_Mais oui._ Do you realize that there are three separate motives -staring us in the face. Somebody certainly stole the blue envelope and -its contents. That is one motive. Blackmail! Ralph Paton may have been -the man who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars. Remember, as far as Hammond -knew, Ralph Paton had not applied to his uncle for help of late. That -looks as though he were being supplied with money elsewhere. Then there -is the fact that he was in some—how do you say—scrape?—which he feared -might get to his uncle’s ears. And finally there is the one you have -just mentioned.” - -“Dear me,” I said, rather taken aback. “The case does seem black -against him.” - -“Does it?” said Poirot. “That is where we disagree, you and I. Three -motives—it is almost too much. I am inclined to believe that, after -all, Ralph Paton is innocent.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - MRS. ACKROYD - - -After the evening talk I have just chronicled, the affair seemed to -me to enter on a different phase. The whole thing can be divided into -two parts, each clear and distinct from the other. Part I. ranges from -Ackroyd’s death on the Friday evening to the following Monday night. -It is the straight-forward narrative of what occurred, as presented -to Hercule Poirot. I was at Poirot’s elbow the whole time. I saw what -he saw. I tried my best to read his mind. As I know now, I failed in -this latter task. Though Poirot showed me all his discoveries—as, for -instance, the gold wedding-ring—he held back the vital and yet logical -impressions that he formed. As I came to know later, this secrecy was -characteristic of him. He would throw out hints and suggestions, but -beyond that he would not go. - -As I say, up till the Monday evening, my narrative might have been that -of Poirot himself. I played Watson to his Sherlock. But after Monday -our ways diverged. Poirot was busy on his own account. I got to hear -of what he was doing, because, in King’s Abbot, you get to hear of -everything, but he did not take me into his confidence beforehand. And -I, too, had my own preoccupations. - -On looking back, the thing that strikes me most is the piecemeal -character of this period. Every one had a hand in the elucidation of -the mystery. It was rather like a jig-saw puzzle to which every one -contributed their own little piece of knowledge or discovery. But their -task ended there. To Poirot alone belongs the renown of fitting those -pieces into their correct place. - -Some of the incidents seemed at the time irrelevant and unmeaning. -There was, for instance, the question of the black boots. But that -comes later.... To take things strictly in chronological order, I must -begin with the summons from Mrs. Ackroyd. - -She sent for me early on Tuesday morning, and since the summons sounded -an urgent one, I hastened there, expecting to find her _in extremis_. - -The lady was in bed. So much did she concede to the etiquette of the -situation. She gave me her bony hand, and indicated a chair drawn up to -the bedside. - -“Well, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said, “and what’s the matter with you?” - -I spoke with that kind of spurious geniality which seems to be expected -of general practitioners. - -“I’m prostrated,” said Mrs. Ackroyd in a faint voice. “Absolutely -prostrated. It’s the shock of poor Roger’s death. They say these -things often aren’t felt at the _time_, you know. It’s the reaction -afterwards.” - -It is a pity that a doctor is precluded by his profession from being -able sometimes to say what he really thinks. - -I would have given anything to be able to answer “Bunkum!” - -Instead, I suggested a tonic. Mrs. Ackroyd accepted the tonic. One -move in the game seemed now to be concluded. Not for a moment did I -imagine that I had been sent for because of the shock occasioned by -Ackroyd’s death. But Mrs. Ackroyd is totally incapable of pursuing -a straight-forward course on any subject. She always approaches her -object by tortuous means. I wondered very much why it was she had sent -for me. - -“And then that scene—yesterday,” continued my patient. - -She paused as though expecting me to take up a cue. - -“What scene?” - -“Doctor, how can you? Have you forgotten? That dreadful little -Frenchman—or Belgian—or whatever he is. Bullying us all like he did. It -has quite upset me. Coming on top of Roger’s death.” - -“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said. - -“I don’t know what he meant—shouting at us like he did. I should hope I -know my duty too well to _dream_ of concealing anything. I have given -the police _every_ assistance in my power.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd paused, and I said, “Quite so.” I was beginning to have a -glimmering of what all the trouble was about. - -“No one can say that I have failed in my duty,” continued Mrs. Ackroyd. -“I am sure Inspector Raglan is perfectly satisfied. Why should this -little upstart of a foreigner make a fuss? A most ridiculous-looking -creature he is too—just like a comic Frenchman in a revue. I can’t -think why Flora insisted on bringing him into the case. She never said -a word to me about it. Just went off and did it on her own. Flora is -too independent. I am a woman of the world and her mother. She should -have come to me for advice first.” - -I listened to all this in silence. - -“What does he think? That’s what I want to know. Does he actually -imagine I’m hiding something? He—he—positively _accused_ me yesterday.” - -I shrugged my shoulders. - -“It is surely of no consequence, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said. “Since you are -not concealing anything, any remarks he may have made do not apply to -you.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd went off at a tangent, after her usual fashion. - -“Servants are so tiresome,” she said. “They gossip, and talk amongst -themselves. And then it gets round—and all the time there’s probably -nothing in it at all.” - -“Have the servants been talking?” I asked. “What about?” - -Mrs. Ackroyd cast a very shrewd glance at me. It quite threw me off my -balance. - -“I was sure _you’d_ know, doctor, if any one did. You were with M. -Poirot all the time, weren’t you?” - -“I was.” - -“Then of course you know. It was that girl, Ursula Bourne, wasn’t it? -Naturally—she’s leaving. She _would_ want to make all the trouble -she could. Spiteful, that’s what they are. They’re all alike. Now, -you being there, doctor, you must know exactly what she did say? I’m -most anxious that no wrong impression should get about. After all, -you don’t repeat every little detail to the police, do you? There are -family matters sometimes—nothing to do with the question of the murder. -But if the girl was spiteful, she may have made out all sorts of -things.” - -I was shrewd enough to see that a very real anxiety lay behind these -outpourings. Poirot had been justified in his premises. Of the six -people round the table yesterday, Mrs. Ackroyd at least had had -something to hide. It was for me to discover what that something might -be. - -“If I were you, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said brusquely, “I should make a clean -breast of things.” - -She gave a little scream. - -“Oh! doctor, how can you be so abrupt. It sounds as though—as -though——And I can explain everything so simply.” - -“Then why not do so,” I suggested. - -Mrs. Ackroyd took out a frilled handkerchief, and became tearful. - -“I thought, doctor, that you might put it to M. Poirot—explain it, you -know—because it’s so difficult for a foreigner to see our point of -view. And you don’t know—nobody could know—what I’ve had to contend -with. A martyrdom—a long martyrdom. That’s what my life has been. I -don’t like to speak ill of the dead—but there it is. Not the smallest -bill, but it had all to be gone over—just as though Roger had had a -few miserly hundreds a year instead of being (as Mr. Hammond told me -yesterday) one of the wealthiest men in these parts.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd paused to dab her eyes with the frilled handkerchief. - -“Yes,” I said encouragingly. “You were talking about bills?” - -“Those dreadful bills. And some I didn’t like to show Roger at all. -They were things a man wouldn’t understand. He would have said the -things weren’t necessary. And of course they mounted up, you know, and -they kept coming in——” - -She looked at me appealingly, as though asking me to condole with her -on this striking peculiarity. - -“It’s a habit they have,” I agreed. - -“And the tone altered—became quite abusive. I assure you, doctor, -I was becoming a nervous wreck. I couldn’t sleep at nights. And a -dreadful fluttering round the heart. And then I got a letter from a -Scotch gentleman—as a matter of fact there were two letters—both Scotch -gentlemen. Mr. Bruce MacPherson was one, and the other were Colin -MacDonald. Quite a coincidence.” - -“Hardly that,” I said dryly. “They are usually Scotch gentlemen, but I -suspect a Semitic strain in their ancestry.” - -“Ten pounds to ten thousand on note of hand alone,” murmured Mrs. -Ackroyd reminiscently. “I wrote to one of them, but it seemed there -were difficulties.” - -She paused. - -I gathered that we were just coming to delicate ground. I have never -known any one more difficult to bring to the point. - -“You see,” murmured Mrs. Ackroyd, “it’s all a question of expectations, -isn’t it? Testamentary expectations. And though, of course, I expected -that Roger would provide for me, I didn’t _know_. I thought that if -only I could glance over a copy of his will—not in any sense of vulgar -prying—but just so that I could make my own arrangements.” - -She glanced sideways at me. The position was now very delicate indeed. -Fortunately words, ingeniously used, will serve to mask the ugliness of -naked facts. - -“I could only tell this to you, dear Dr. Sheppard,” said Mrs. Ackroyd -rapidly. “I can trust you not to misjudge me, and to represent the -matter in the right light to M. Poirot. It was on Friday afternoon——” - -She came to a stop and swallowed uncertainly. - -“Yes,” I repeated encouragingly. “On Friday afternoon. Well?” - -“Every one was out, or so I thought. And I went into Roger’s study—I -had some real reason for going there—I mean, there was nothing -underhand about it. And as I saw all the papers heaped on the desk, it -just came to me, like a flash: ‘I wonder if Roger keeps his will in -one of the drawers of the desk.’ I’m so impulsive, always was, from a -child. I do things on the spur of the moment. He’d left his keys—very -careless of him—in the lock of the top drawer.” - -“I see,” I said helpfully. “So you searched the desk. Did you find the -will?” - -Mrs. Ackroyd gave a little scream, and I realized that I had not been -sufficiently diplomatic. - -“How dreadful it sounds. But it wasn’t at all like that really.” - -“Of course it wasn’t,” I said hastily. “You must forgive my unfortunate -way of putting things.” - -“You see, men are so peculiar. In dear Roger’s place, I should not -have objected to revealing the provisions of my will. But men are so -secretive. One is forced to adopt little subterfuges in self-defence.” - -“And the result of the little subterfuge?” I asked. - -“That’s just what I’m telling you. As I got to the bottom drawer, -Bourne came in. Most awkward. Of course I shut the drawer and stood -up, and I called her attention to a few specks of dust on the surface. -But I didn’t like the way she looked—quite respectful in manner, but a -very nasty light in her eyes. Almost contemptuous, if you know what I -mean. I never have liked that girl very much. She’s a good servant, and -she says Ma’am, and doesn’t object to wearing caps and aprons (which -I declare to you a lot of them do nowadays), and she can say ‘Not at -home’ without scruples if she has to answer the door instead of Parker, -and she doesn’t have those peculiar gurgling noises inside which so -many parlormaids seem to have when they wait at table——Let me see, -where was I?” - -“You were saying, that in spite of several valuable qualities, you -never liked Bourne.” - -“No more I do. She’s—odd. There’s something different about her from -the others. Too well educated, that’s my opinion. You can’t tell who -are ladies and who aren’t nowadays.” - -“And what happened next?” I asked. - -“Nothing. At least, Roger came in. And I thought he was out for a -walk. And he said: ‘What’s all this?’ and I said, ‘Nothing. I just came -in to fetch _Punch_.’ And I took _Punch_ and went out with it. Bourne -stayed behind. I heard her asking Roger if she could speak to him for a -minute. I went straight up to my room, to lie down. I was very upset.” - -There was a pause. - -“You will explain to M. Poirot, won’t you? You can see for yourself -what a trivial matter the whole thing was. But, of course, when he was -so stern about concealing things, I thought of this at once. Bourne -may have made some extraordinary story out of it, but you can explain, -can’t you?” - -“That is all?” I said. “You have told me everything?” - -“Ye-es,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “Oh! yes,” she added firmly. - -But I had noted the momentary hesitation, and I knew that there was -still something she was keeping back. It was nothing less than a flash -of sheer genius that prompted me to ask the question I did. - -“Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said, “was it you who left the silver table open?” - -I had my answer in the blush of guilt that even rouge and powder could -not conceal. - -“How did you know?” she whispered. - -“It was you, then?” - -“Yes—I—you see—there were one or two pieces of old silver—very -interesting. I had been reading up the subject and there was an -illustration of quite a small piece which had fetched an immense -sum at Christy’s. It looked to me just the same as the one in the -silver table. I thought I would take it up to London with me when I -went—and—and have it valued. Then if it really was a valuable piece, -just think what a charming surprise it would have been for Roger?” - -I refrained from comments, accepting Mrs. Ackroyd’s story on its -merits. I even forbore to ask her why it was necessary to abstract what -she wanted in such a surreptitious manner. - -“Why did you leave the lid open?” I asked. “Did you forget?” - -“I was startled,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “I heard footsteps coming along -the terrace outside. I hastened out of the room and just got up the -stairs before Parker opened the front door to you.” - -“That must have been Miss Russell,” I said thoughtfully. Mrs. Ackroyd -had revealed to me one fact that was extremely interesting. Whether her -designs upon Ackroyd’s silver had been strictly honorable I neither -knew nor cared. What did interest me was the fact that Miss Russell -must have entered the drawing-room by the window, and that I had not -been wrong when I judged her to be out of breath with running. Where -had she been? I thought of the summer-house and the scrap of cambric. - -“I wonder if Miss Russell has her handkerchiefs starched!” I exclaimed -on the spur of the moment. - -Mrs. Ackroyd’s start recalled me to myself, and I rose. - -“You think you can explain to M. Poirot?” she asked anxiously. - -“Oh, certainly. Absolutely.” - -I got away at last, after being forced to listen to more justifications -of her conduct. - -The parlormaid was in the hall, and it was she who helped me on with my -overcoat. I observed her more closely than I had done heretofore. It -was clear that she had been crying. - -“How is it,” I asked, “that you told us that Mr. Ackroyd sent for you -on Friday to his study? I hear now that it was _you_ who asked to speak -to _him_?” - -For a minute the girl’s eyes dropped before mine. - -Then she spoke. - -“I meant to leave in any case,” she said uncertainly. - -I said no more. She opened the front door for me. Just as I was passing -out, she said suddenly in a low voice:— - -“Excuse me, sir, is there any news of Captain Paton?” - -I shook my head, looking at her inquiringly. - -“He ought to come back,” she said. “Indeed—indeed he ought to come -back.” - -She was looking at me with appealing eyes. - -“Does no one know where he is?” she asked. - -“Do you?” I said sharply. - -She shook her head. - -“No, indeed. I know nothing. But any one who was a friend to him would -tell him this: he ought to come back.” - -I lingered, thinking that perhaps the girl would say more. Her next -question surprised me. - -“When do they think the murder was done? Just before ten o’clock?” - -“That is the idea,” I said. “Between a quarter to ten and the hour.” - -“Not earlier? Not before a quarter to ten?” - -I looked at her attentively. She was so clearly eager for a reply in -the affirmative. - -“That’s out of the question,” I said. “Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive -at a quarter to ten.” - -She turned away, and her whole figure seemed to droop. - -“A handsome girl,” I said to myself as I drove off. “An exceedingly -handsome girl.” - -Caroline was at home. She had had a visit from Poirot and was very -pleased and important about it. - -“I am helping him with the case,” she explained. - -I felt rather uneasy. Caroline is bad enough as it is. What will she be -like with her detective instincts encouraged? - -“Are you going round the neighborhood looking for Ralph Paton’s -mysterious girl?” I inquired. - -“I might do that on my own account,” said Caroline. “No, this is a -special thing M. Poirot wants me to find out for him.” - -“What is it?” I asked. - -“He wants to know whether Ralph Paton’s boots were black or brown,” -said Caroline with tremendous solemnity. - -I stared at her. I see now that I was unbelievably stupid about these -boots. I failed altogether to grasp the point. - -“They were brown shoes,” I said. “I saw them.” - -“Not shoes, James, boots. M. Poirot wants to know whether a pair of -boots Ralph had with him at the hotel were brown or black. A lot hangs -on it.” - -Call me dense if you like. I didn’t see. - -“And how are you going to find out?” I asked. - -Caroline said there would be no difficulty about that. Our Annie’s -dearest friend was Miss Ganett’s maid, Clara. And Clara was walking -out with the boots at the Three Boars. The whole thing was simplicity -itself, and by the aid of Miss Ganett, who coöperated loyally, at once -giving Clara leave of absence, the matter was rushed through at express -speed. - -It was when we were sitting down to lunch that Caroline remarked, with -would-be unconcern:— - -“About those boots of Ralph Paton’s.” - -“Well,” I said, “what about them?” - -“M. Poirot thought they were probably brown. He was wrong. They’re -black.” - -And Caroline nodded her head several times. She evidently felt that she -had scored a point over Poirot. - -I did not answer. I was puzzling over what the color of a pair of Ralph -Paton’s boots had to do with the case. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - GEOFFREY RAYMOND - - -I was to have a further proof that day of the success of Poirot’s -tactics. That challenge of his had been a subtle touch born of his -knowledge of human nature. A mixture of fear and guilt had wrung the -truth from Mrs. Ackroyd. She was the first to react. - -That afternoon when I returned from seeing my patients, Caroline told -me that Geoffrey Raymond had just left. - -“Did he want to see me?” I asked, as I hung up my coat in the hall. - -Caroline was hovering by my elbow. - -“It was M. Poirot he wanted to see,” she said. “He’d just come from The -Larches. M. Poirot was out. Mr. Raymond thought that he might be here, -or that you might know where he was.” - -“I haven’t the least idea.” - -“I tried to make him wait,” said Caroline, “but he said he would call -back at The Larches in half an hour, and went away down the village. A -great pity, because M. Poirot came in practically the minute after he -left.” - -“Came in here?” - -“No, to his own house.” - -“How do you know?” - -“The side window,” said Caroline briefly. - -It seemed to me that we had now exhausted the topic. Caroline thought -otherwise. - -“Aren’t you going across?” - -“Across where?” - -“To The Larches, of course.” - -“My dear Caroline,” I said, “what for?” - -“Mr. Raymond wanted to see him very particularly,” said Caroline. “You -might hear what it’s all about.” - -I raised my eyebrows. - -“Curiosity is not my besetting sin,” I remarked coldly. “I can exist -comfortably without knowing exactly what my neighbors are doing and -thinking.” - -“Stuff and nonsense, James,” said my sister. “You want to know just -as much as I do. You’re not so honest, that’s all. You always have to -pretend.” - -“Really, Caroline,” I said, and retired into my surgery. - -Ten minutes later Caroline tapped at the door and entered. In her hand -she held what seemed to be a pot of jam. - -“I wonder, James,” she said, “if you would mind taking this pot of -medlar jelly across to M. Poirot? I promised it to him. He has never -tasted any home-made medlar jelly.” - -“Why can’t Annie go?” I asked coldly. - -“She’s doing some mending. I can’t spare her.” - -Caroline and I looked at each other. - -“Very well,” I said, rising. “But if I take the beastly thing, I shall -just leave it at the door. You understand that?” - -My sister raised her eyebrows. - -“Naturally,” she said. “Who suggested you should do anything else?” - -The honors were with Caroline. - -“If you _do_ happen to see M. Poirot,” she said, as I opened the front -door, “you might tell him about the boots.” - -It was a most subtle parting shot. I wanted dreadfully to understand -the enigma of the boots. When the old lady with the Breton cap opened -the door to me, I found myself asking if M. Poirot was in, quite -automatically. - -Poirot sprang up to meet me, with every appearance of pleasure. - -“Sit down, my good friend,” he said. “The big chair? This small one? -The room is not too hot, no?” - -I thought it was stifling, but refrained from saying so. The windows -were closed, and a large fire burned in the grate. - -“The English people, they have a mania for the fresh air,” declared -Poirot. “The big air, it is all very well outside, where it belongs. -Why admit it to the house? But let us not discuss such banalities. You -have something for me, yes?” - -“Two things,” I said. “First—this—from my sister.” - -I handed over the pot of medlar jelly. - -“How kind of Mademoiselle Caroline. She has remembered her promise. And -the second thing?” - -“Information—of a kind.” - -And I told him of my interview with Mrs. Ackroyd. He listened with -interest, but not much excitement. - -“It clears the ground,” he said thoughtfully. “And it has a certain -value as confirming the evidence of the housekeeper. She said, you -remember, that she found the silver table lid open and closed it down -in passing.” - -“What about her statement that she went into the drawing-room to see if -the flowers were fresh?” - -“Ah! we never took that very seriously, did we, my friend? It was -patently an excuse, trumped up in a hurry, by a woman who felt it -urgent to explain her presence—which, by the way, you would probably -never have thought of questioning. I considered it possible that her -agitation might arise from the fact that she had been tampering with -the silver table, but I think now that we must look for another cause.” - -“Yes,” I said. “Whom did she go out to meet? And why?” - -“You think she went to meet some one?” - -“I do.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“So do I,” he said thoughtfully. - -There was a pause. - -“By the way,” I said, “I’ve got a message for you from my sister. Ralph -Paton’s boots were black, not brown.” - -I was watching him closely as I gave the message, and I fancied that -I saw a momentary flicker of discomposure. If so, it passed almost -immediately. - -“She is absolutely positive they are not brown?” - -“Absolutely.” - -“Ah!” said Poirot regretfully. “That is a pity.” - -And he seemed quite crestfallen. - -He entered into no explanations, but at once started a new subject of -conversation. - -“The housekeeper, Miss Russell, who came to consult you on that Friday -morning—is it indiscreet to ask what passed at the interview—apart from -the medical details, I mean?” - -“Not at all,” I said. “When the professional part of the conversation -was over, we talked for a few minutes about poisons, and the ease or -difficulty of detecting them, and about drug-taking and drug-takers.” - -“With special reference to cocaine?” asked Poirot. - -“How did you know?” I asked, somewhat surprised. - -For answer, the little man rose and crossed the room to where -newspapers were filed. He brought me a copy of the _Daily Budget_, -dated Friday, 16th September, and showed me an article dealing with the -smuggling of cocaine. It was a somewhat lurid article, written with an -eye to picturesque effect. - -“That is what put cocaine into her head, my friend,” he said. - -I would have catechized him further, for I did not quite understand his -meaning, but at that moment the door opened and Geoffrey Raymond was -announced. - -He came in fresh and debonair as ever, and greeted us both. - -“How are you, doctor? M. Poirot, this is the second time I’ve been here -this morning. I was anxious to catch you.” - -“Perhaps I’d better be off,” I suggested rather awkwardly. - -“Not on my account, doctor. No, it’s just this,” he went on, seating -himself at a wave of invitation from Poirot, “I’ve got a confession to -make.” - -“_En verité_?” said Poirot, with an air of polite interest. - -“Oh, it’s of no consequence, really. But, as a matter of fact, my -conscience has been pricking me ever since yesterday afternoon. You -accused us all of keeping back something, M. Poirot. I plead guilty. -I’ve had something up my sleeve.” - -“And what is that, M. Raymond?” - -“As I say, it’s nothing of consequence—just this. I was in debt—badly, -and that legacy came in the nick of time. Five hundred pounds puts me -on my feet again with a little to spare.” - -He smiled at us both with that engaging frankness that made him such a -likable youngster. - -“You know how it is. Suspicious looking policeman—don’t like to admit -you were hard up for money—think it will look bad to them. But I was -a fool, really, because Blunt and I were in the billiard room from a -quarter to ten onwards, so I’ve got a watertight alibi and nothing to -fear. Still, when you thundered out that stuff about concealing things, -I felt a nasty prick of conscience, and I thought I’d like to get it -off my mind.” - -He got up again and stood smiling at us. - -“You are a very wise young man,” said Poirot, nodding at him with -approval. “See you, when I know that any one is hiding things from me, -I suspect that the thing hidden may be something very bad indeed. You -have done well.” - -“I’m glad I’m cleared from suspicion,” laughed Raymond. “I’ll be off -now.” - -“So that is that,” I remarked, as the door closed behind the young -secretary. - -“Yes,” agreed Poirot. “A mere bagatelle—but if he had not been in the -billiard room—who knows? After all, many crimes have been committed for -the sake of less than five hundred pounds. It all depends on what sum -is sufficient to break a man. A question of the relativity, is it not -so? Have you reflected, my friend, that many people in that house stood -to benefit by Mr. Ackroyd’s death? Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora, young Mr. -Raymond, the housekeeper, Miss Russell. Only one, in fact, does not, -Major Blunt.” - -His tone in uttering that name was so peculiar that I looked up, -puzzled. - -“I don’t quite understand you?” I said. - -“Two of the people I accused have given me the truth.” - -“You think Major Blunt has something to conceal also?” - -“As for that,” remarked Poirot nonchalantly, “there is a saying, is -there not, that Englishmen conceal only one thing—their love? And Major -Blunt, I should say, is not good at concealments.” - -“Sometimes,” I said, “I wonder if we haven’t rather jumped to -conclusions on one point.” - -“What is that?” - -“We’ve assumed that the blackmailer of Mrs. Ferrars is necessarily the -murderer of Mr. Ackroyd. Mightn’t we be mistaken?” - -Poirot nodded energetically. - -“Very good. Very good indeed. I wondered if that idea would come to -you. Of course it is possible. But we must remember one point. The -letter disappeared. Still, that, as you say, may not necessarily mean -that the murderer took it. When you first found the body, Parker may -have abstracted the letter unnoticed by you.” - -“Parker?” - -“Yes, Parker. I always come back to Parker—not as the murderer—no, he -did not commit the murder; but who is more suitable than he as the -mysterious scoundrel who terrorized Mrs. Ferrars? He may have got his -information about Mr. Ferrars’s death from one of the King’s Paddock -servants. At any rate, he is more likely to have come upon it than a -casual guest such as Blunt, for instance.” - -“Parker might have taken the letter,” I admitted. “It wasn’t till later -that I noticed it was gone.” - -“How much later? After Blunt and Raymond were in the room, or before?” - -“I can’t remember,” I said slowly. “I think it was before—no, -afterwards. Yes, I’m almost sure it was afterwards.” - -“That widens the field to three,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “But Parker -is the most likely. It is in my mind to try a little experiment with -Parker. How say you, my friend, will you accompany me to Fernly?” - -I acquiesced, and we set out at once. Poirot asked to see Miss Ackroyd, -and presently Flora came to us. - -“Mademoiselle Flora,” said Poirot, “I have to confide in you a little -secret. I am not yet satisfied of the innocence of Parker. I propose to -make a little experiment with your assistance. I want to reconstruct -some of his actions on that night. But we must think of something to -tell him—ah! I have it. I wish to satisfy myself as to whether voices -in the little lobby could have been heard outside on the terrace. Now, -ring for Parker, if you will be so good.” - -I did so, and presently the butler appeared, suave as ever. - -“You rang, sir?” - -“Yes, my good Parker. I have in mind a little experiment. I have placed -Major Blunt on the terrace outside the study window. I want to see if -any one there could have heard the voices of Miss Ackroyd and yourself -in the lobby that night. I want to enact that little scene over again. -Perhaps you would fetch the tray or whatever it was you were carrying?” - -Parker vanished, and we repaired to the lobby outside the study door. -Presently we heard a chink in the outer hall, and Parker appeared in -the doorway carrying a tray with a siphon, a decanter of whisky, and -two glasses on it. - -“One moment,” cried Poirot, raising his hand and seemingly very -excited. “We must have everything in order. Just as it occurred. It is -a little method of mine.” - -“A foreign custom, sir,” said Parker. “Reconstruction of the crime they -call it, do they not?” - -He was quite imperturbable as he stood there politely waiting on -Poirot’s orders. - -“Ah! he knows something, the good Parker,” cried Poirot. “He has read -of these things. Now, I beg you, let us have everything of the most -exact. You came from the outer hall—so. Mademoiselle was—where?” - -“Here,” said Flora, taking up her stand just outside the study door. - -“Quite right, sir,” said Parker. - -“I had just closed the door,” continued Flora. - -“Yes, miss,” agreed Parker. “Your hand was still on the handle as it is -now.” - -“Then _allez_,” said Poirot. “Play me the little comedy.” - -Flora stood with her hand on the door handle, and Parker came stepping -through the door from the hall, bearing the tray. - -He stopped just inside the door. Flora spoke. - -“Oh! Parker. Mr. Ackroyd doesn’t want to be disturbed again to-night.” - -“Is that right?” she added in an undertone. - -“To the best of my recollection, Miss Flora,” said Parker, “but I fancy -you used the word evening instead of night.” Then, raising his voice -in a somewhat theatrical fashion: “Very good, miss. Shall I lock up as -usual?” - -“Yes, please.” - -Parker retired through the door, Flora followed him, and started to -ascend the main staircase. - -“Is that enough?” she asked over her shoulder. - -“Admirable,” declared the little man, rubbing his hands. “By the way, -Parker, are you sure there were two glasses on the tray that evening? -Who was the second one for?” - -“I always bring two glasses, sir,” said Parker. “Is there anything -further?” - -“Nothing. I thank you.” - -Parker withdrew, dignified to the last. - -Poirot stood in the middle of the hall frowning. Flora came down and -joined us. - -“Has your experiment been successful?” she asked. “I don’t quite -understand, you know——” - -Poirot smiled admiringly at her. - -“It is not necessary that you should,” he said. “But tell me, were -there indeed two glasses on Parker’s tray that night?” - -Flora wrinkled her brows a minute. - -“I really can’t remember,” she said. “I think there were. Is—is that -the object of your experiment?” - -Poirot took her hand and patted it. - -“Put it this way,” he said. “I am always interested to see if people -will speak the truth.” - -“And did Parker speak the truth?” - -“I rather think he did,” said Poirot thoughtfully. - -A few minutes later saw us retracing our steps to the village. - -“What was the point of that question about the glasses?” I asked -curiously. - -Poirot shrugged his shoulders. - -“One must say something,” he remarked. “That particular question did as -well as any other.” - -I stared at him. - -“At any rate, my friend,” he said more seriously, “I know now something -I wanted to know. Let us leave it at that.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - AN EVENING AT MAH JONG - - -That night we had a little Mah Jong party. This kind of simple -entertainment is very popular in King’s Abbot. The guests arrive in -goloshes and waterproofs after dinner. They partake of coffee and later -of cake, sandwiches, and tea. - -On this particular night our guests were Miss Ganett and Colonel -Carter, who lives near the church. A good deal of gossip is handed -round at these evenings, sometimes seriously interfering with the -game in progress. We used to play bridge—chatty bridge of the worst -description. We find Mah Jong much more peaceful. The irritated demand -as to why on earth your partner did not lead a certain card is entirely -done away with, and though we still express criticisms frankly, there -is not the same acrimonious spirit. - -“Very cold evening, eh, Sheppard?” said Colonel Carter, standing with -his back to the fire. Caroline had taken Miss Ganett to her own room, -and was there assisting her to disentangle herself from her many wraps. -“Reminds me of the Afghan passes.” - -“Indeed?” I said politely. - -“Very mysterious business this about poor Ackroyd,” continued the -colonel, accepting a cup of coffee. “A deuce of a lot behind it—that’s -what I say. Between you and me, Sheppard, I’ve heard the word blackmail -mentioned!” - -The colonel gave me the look which might be tabulated “one man of the -world to another.” - -“A woman in it, no doubt,” he said. “Depend upon it, a woman in it.” - -Caroline and Miss Ganett joined us at this minute. Miss Ganett drank -coffee whilst Caroline got out the Mah Jong box and poured out the -tiles upon the table. - -“Washing the tiles,” said the colonel facetiously. “That’s -right—washing the tiles, as we used to say in the Shanghai Club.” - -It is the private opinion of both Caroline and myself that Colonel -Carter has never been in the Shanghai Club in his life. More, that he -has never been farther east than India, where he juggled with tins of -bully beef and plum and apple jam during the Great War. But the colonel -is determinedly military, and in King’s Abbot we permit people to -indulge their little idiosyncrasies freely. - -“Shall we begin?” said Caroline. - -We sat round the table. For some five minutes there was complete -silence, owing to the fact that there is tremendous secret competition -amongst us as to who can build their wall quickest. - -“Go on, James,” said Caroline at last. “You’re East Wind.” - -I discarded a tile. A round or two proceeded, broken by the monotonous -remarks of “Three Bamboos,” “Two Circles,” “Pung,” and frequently -from Miss Ganett “Unpung,” owing to that lady’s habit of too hastily -claiming tiles to which she had no right. - -“I saw Flora Ackroyd this morning,” said Miss Ganett. “Pung—no—Unpung. -I made a mistake.” - -“Four Circles,” said Caroline. “Where did you see her?” - -“She didn’t see _me_,” said Miss Ganett, with that tremendous -significance only to be met with in small villages. - -“Ah!” said Caroline interestedly. “Chow.” - -“I believe,” said Miss Ganett, temporarily diverted, “that it’s the -right thing nowadays to say ‘Chee’ not ‘Chow.’” - -“Nonsense,” said Caroline. “I have always said ‘_Chow_.’” - -“In the Shanghai Club,” said Colonel Carter, “they say ‘_Chow_.’” - -Miss Ganett retired, crushed. - -“What were you saying about Flora Ackroyd?” asked Caroline, after a -moment or two devoted to the game. “Was she with any one?” - -“Very much so,” said Miss Ganett. - -The eyes of the two ladies met, and seemed to exchange information. - -“Really,” said Caroline interestedly. “Is that it? Well, it doesn’t -surprise me in the least.” - -“We’re waiting for you to discard, Miss Caroline,” said the colonel. He -sometimes affects the pose of the bluff male, intent on the game and -indifferent to gossip. But nobody is deceived. - -“If you ask me,” said Miss Ganett. (“Was that a Bamboo you discarded, -dear? Oh! no, I see now—it was a Circle.) As I was saying, if you ask -me, Flora’s been exceedingly lucky. Exceedingly lucky she’s been.” - -“How’s that, Miss Ganett?” asked the colonel. “I’ll Pung that Green -Dragon. How do you make out that Miss Flora’s been lucky? Very charming -girl and all that, I know.” - -“I mayn’t know very much about crime,” said Miss Ganett, with the air -of one who knows everything there is to know, “but I can tell you one -thing. The first question that’s always asked is ‘Who last saw the -deceased alive?’ And the person who did is regarded with suspicion. -Now, Flora Ackroyd last saw her uncle alive. It might have looked very -nasty for her—very nasty indeed. It’s my opinion—and I give it for what -it’s worth, that Ralph Paton is staying away on her account, to draw -suspicion away from her.” - -“Come, now,” I protested mildly, “you surely can’t suggest that a young -girl like Flora Ackroyd is capable of stabbing her uncle in cold blood?” - -“Well, I don’t know,” said Miss Ganett. “I’ve just been reading a book -from the library about the underworld of Paris, and it says that some -of the worst women criminals are young girls with the faces of angels.” - -“That’s in France,” said Caroline instantly. - -“Just so,” said the colonel. “Now, I’ll tell you a very curious thing—a -story that was going round the Bazaars in India....” - -The colonel’s story was one of interminable length, and of curiously -little interest. A thing that happened in India many years ago cannot -compare for a moment with an event that took place in King’s Abbot the -day before yesterday. - -It was Caroline who brought the colonel’s story to a close by -fortunately going Mah Jong. After the slight unpleasantness always -occasioned by my corrections of Caroline’s somewhat faulty arithmetic, -we started a new hand. - -“East Wind passes,” said Caroline. “I’ve got an idea of my own about -Ralph Paton. Three Characters. But I’m keeping it to myself for the -present.” - -“Are you, dear?” said Miss Ganett. “Chow—I mean Pung.” - -“Yes,” said Caroline firmly. - -“Was it all right about the boots?” asked Miss Ganett. “Their being -black, I mean?” - -“Quite all right,” said Caroline. - -“What was the point, do you think?” asked Miss Ganett. - -Caroline pursed up her lips, and shook her head with an air of knowing -all about it. - -“Pung,” said Miss Ganett. “No—Unpung. I suppose that now the doctor’s -in with M. Poirot he knows all the secrets?” - -“Far from it,” I said. - -“James is so modest,” said Caroline. “Ah! a concealed Kong.” - -The colonel gave vent to a whistle. For the moment gossip was -forgotten. - -“Your own wind, too,” he said. “_And_ you’ve got two Pungs of Dragons. -We must be careful. Miss Caroline’s out for a big hand.” - -We played for some minutes with no irrelevant conversation. - -“This M. Poirot now,” said Colonel Carter, “is he really such a great -detective?” - -“The greatest the world has ever known,” said Caroline solemnly. “He -had to come here incognito to avoid publicity.” - -“Chow,” said Miss Ganett. “Quite wonderful for our little village, I’m -sure. By the way, Clara—my maid, you know—is great friends with Elsie, -the housemaid at Fernly, and what do you think Elsie told her? That -there’s been a lot of money stolen, and it’s her opinion—Elsie’s—I -mean, that the parlormaid had something to do with it. She’s leaving -at the month, and she’s crying a good deal at night. If you ask me, -the girl is very likely in league with a _gang_. She’s always been a -queer girl—she’s not friends with any of the girls round here. She -goes off by herself on her days out—very unnatural, I call it, and -most suspicious. I asked her once to come to our Girls’ Friendly -Evenings, but she refused, and then I asked her a few questions about -her home and her family—all that sort of thing, and I’m bound to say I -considered her manner most impertinent. Outwardly very respectful—but -she shut me up in the most barefaced way.” - -Miss Ganett stopped for breath, and the colonel, who was totally -uninterested in the servant question, remarked that in the Shanghai -Club brisk play was the invariable rule. - -We had a round of brisk play. - -“That Miss Russell,” said Caroline. “She came here pretending to -consult James on Friday morning. It’s my opinion she wanted to see -where the poisons were kept. Five Characters.” - -“Chow,” said Miss Ganett. “What an extraordinary idea? I wonder if you -can be right.” - -“Talking of poisons,” said the colonel. “Eh—what? Haven’t I discarded? -Oh! Eight Bamboos.” - -“Mah Jong!” said Miss Ganett. - -Caroline was very much annoyed. - -“One Red Dragon,” she said regretfully, “and I should have had a hand -of three doubles.” - -“I’ve had two Red Dragons all the time,” I mentioned. - -“So exactly like you, James,” said Caroline reproachfully. “You’ve no -conception of the spirit of the game.” - -I myself thought I had played rather cleverly. I should have had to pay -Caroline an enormous amount if she had gone Mah Jong. Miss Ganett’s Mah -Jong was of the poorest variety possible, as Caroline did not fail to -point out to her. - -East Wind passed, and we started a new hand in silence. - -“What I was going to tell you just now was this,” said Caroline. - -“Yes?” said Miss Ganett encouragingly. - -“My idea about Ralph Paton, I mean.” - -“Yes, dear,” said Miss Ganett, still more encouragingly. “Chow!” - -“It’s a sign of weakness to Chow so early,” said Caroline severely. -“You should go for a big hand.” - -“I know,” said Miss Ganett. “You were saying—about Ralph Paton, you -know?” - -“Yes. Well, I’ve a pretty shrewd idea where he is.” - -We all stopped to stare at her. - -“This is very interesting, Miss Caroline,” said Colonel Carter. “All -your own idea, eh?” - -“Well, not exactly. I’ll tell you about it. You know that big map of -the county we have in the hall?” - -We all said Yes. - -“As M. Poirot was going out the other day, he stopped and looked at it, -and he made some remark—I can’t remember exactly what it was. Something -about Cranchester being the only big town anywhere near us—which is -true, of course. But after he had gone—it came to me suddenly.” - -“What came to you?” - -“His meaning. Of course Ralph is in Cranchester.” - -It was at that moment that I knocked down the rack that held my pieces. -My sister immediately reproved me for clumsiness, but half-heartedly. -She was intent on her theory. - -“Cranchester, Miss Caroline?” said Colonel Carter. “Surely not -Cranchester! It’s so near.” - -“That’s exactly it,” cried Caroline triumphantly. “It seems quite clear -by now that he didn’t get away from here by train. He must simply have -walked into Cranchester. And I believe he’s there still. No one would -dream of his being so near at hand.” - -I pointed out several objections to the theory, but when once Caroline -has got something firmly into her head, nothing dislodges it. - -“And you think M. Poirot has the same idea,” said Miss Ganett -thoughtfully. “It’s a curious coincidence, but I was out for a walk -this afternoon on the Cranchester road, and he passed me in a car -coming from that direction.” - -We all looked at each other. - -“Why, dear me,” said Miss Ganett suddenly, “I’m Mah Jong all the time, -and I never noticed it.” - -Caroline’s attention was distracted from her own inventive exercises. -She pointed out to Miss Ganett that a hand consisting of mixed suits -and too many Chows was hardly worth going Mah Jong on. Miss Ganett -listened imperturbably and collected her counters. - -“Yes, dear, I know what you mean,” she said. “But it rather depends on -what kind of a hand you have to start with, doesn’t it?” - -“You’ll never get the big hands if you don’t go for them,” urged -Caroline. - -“Well, we must all play our own way, mustn’t we?” said Miss Ganett. She -looked down at her counters. “After all, I’m up, so far.” - -Caroline, who was considerably down, said nothing. - -East Wind passed, and we set to once more. Annie brought in the tea -things. Caroline and Miss Ganett were both slightly ruffled as is -often the case during one of these festive evenings. - -“If you would only play a leetle quicker, dear,” said Caroline, as Miss -Ganett hesitated over her discard. “The Chinese put down the tiles so -quickly it sounds like little birds pattering.” - -For some few minutes we played like the Chinese. - -“You haven’t contributed much to the sum of information, Sheppard,” -said Colonel Carter genially. “You’re a sly dog. Hand in glove with the -great detective, and not a hint as to the way things are going.” - -“James is an extraordinary creature,” said Caroline. “He can _not_ -bring himself to part with information.” - -She looked at me with some disfavor. - -“I assure you,” I said, “that I don’t know anything. Poirot keeps his -own counsel.” - -“Wise man,” said the colonel with a chuckle. “He doesn’t give himself -away. But they’re wonderful fellows, these foreign detectives. Up to -all sorts of dodges, I believe.” - -“Pung,” said Miss Ganett, in a tone of quiet triumph. “And Mah Jong.” - -The situation became more strained. It was annoyance at Miss Ganett’s -going Mah Jong for the third time running which prompted Caroline to -say to me as we built a fresh wall:— - -“You are too tiresome, James. You sit there like a dead head, and say -nothing at all!” - -“But, my dear,” I protested, “I have really nothing to say—that is, of -the kind you mean.” - -“Nonsense,” said Caroline, as she sorted her hand. “You _must_ know -something interesting.” - -I did not answer for a moment. I was overwhelmed and intoxicated. I had -read of there being such a thing as the Perfect Winning—going Mah Jong -on one’s original hand. I had never hoped to hold the hand myself. - -With suppressed triumph I laid my hand face upwards on the table. - -“As they say in the Shanghai Club,” I remarked, “Tin-ho—the Perfect -Winning!” - -The colonel’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. - -“Upon my soul,” he said. “What an extraordinary thing. I never saw that -happen before!” - -It was then that I went on, goaded by Caroline’s gibes, and rendered -reckless by my triumph. - -“And as to anything interesting,” I said. “What about a gold wedding -ring with a date and ‘From R.’ inside.” - -I pass over the scene that followed. I was made to say exactly where -this treasure was found. I was made to reveal the date. - -“March 13th,” said Caroline. “Just six months ago. Ah!” - -Out of the babel of excited suggestions and suppositions three theories -were evolved:— - -1. That of Colonel Carter: that Ralph was secretly married to Flora. -The first or most simple solution. - -2. That of Miss Ganett: that Roger Ackroyd had been secretly married to -Mrs. Ferrars. - -3. That of my sister: that Roger Ackroyd had married his housekeeper, -Miss Russell. - -A fourth or super-theory was propounded by Caroline later as we went up -to bed. - -“Mark my words,” she said suddenly, “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if -Geoffrey Raymond and Flora weren’t married.” - -“Surely it would be ‘From G,’ not ‘From R’ then,” I suggested. - -“You never know. Some girls call men by their surnames. And you heard -what Miss Ganett said this evening—about Flora’s carryings on.” - -Strictly speaking, I had not heard Miss Ganett say anything of the -kind, but I respected Caroline’s knowledge of innuendoes. - -“How about Hector Blunt,” I hinted. “If it’s anybody——” - -“Nonsense,” said Caroline. “I dare say he admires her—may even be in -love with her. But depend upon it a girl isn’t going to fall in love -with a man old enough to be her father when there’s a good-looking -young secretary about. She may encourage Major Blunt just as a blind. -Girls are very artful. But there’s one thing I _do_ tell you, James -Sheppard. Flora Ackroyd does not care a penny piece for Ralph Paton, -and never has. You can take it from me.” - -I took it from her meekly. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - PARKER - - -It occurred to me the next morning that under the exhilaration -produced by Tin-ho, or the Perfect Winning, I might have been slightly -indiscreet. True, Poirot had not asked me to keep the discovery of -the ring to myself. On the other hand, he had said nothing about it -whilst at Fernly, and as far as I knew, I was the only person aware -that it had been found. I felt distinctly guilty. The fact was by now -spreading through King’s Abbot like wildfire. I was expecting wholesale -reproaches from Poirot any minute. - -The joint funeral of Mrs. Ferrars and Roger Ackroyd was fixed for -eleven o’clock. It was a melancholy and impressive ceremony. All the -party from Fernly were there. - -After it was over, Poirot, who had also been present, took me by the -arm, and invited me to accompany him back to The Larches. He was -looking very grave, and I feared that my indiscretion of the night -before had got round to his ears. But it soon transpired that his -thoughts were occupied by something of a totally different nature. - -“See you,” he said. “We must act. With your help I propose to examine a -witness. We will question him, we will put such fear into him that the -truth is bound to come out.” - -“What witness are you talking of?” I asked, very much surprised. - -“Parker!” said Poirot. “I asked him to be at my house this morning at -twelve o’clock. He should await us there at this very minute.” - -“What do you think,” I ventured, glancing sideways at his face. - -“I know this—that I am not satisfied.” - -“You think that it was he who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars?” - -“Either that, or——” - -“Well?” I said, after waiting a minute or two. - -“My friend, I will say this to you—I hope it was he.” - -The gravity of his manner, and something indefinable that tinged it, -reduced me to silence. - -On arrival at The Larches, we were informed that Parker was already -there awaiting our return. As we entered the room, the butler rose -respectfully. - -“Good morning, Parker,” said Poirot pleasantly. “One instant, I pray of -you.” - -He removed his overcoat and gloves. - -“Allow me, sir,” said Parker, and sprang forward to assist him. He -deposited the articles neatly on a chair by the door. Poirot watched -him with approval. - -“Thank you, my good Parker,” he said. “Take a seat, will you not? What -I have to say may take some time.” - -Parker seated himself with an apologetic bend of the head. - -“Now what do you think I asked you to come here for this morning—eh?” - -Parker coughed. - -“I understood, sir, that you wished to ask me a few questions about my -late master—private like.” - -“_Précisément_,” said Poirot, beaming. “Have you made many experiments -in blackmail?” - -“Sir!” - -The butler sprang to his feet. - -“Do not excite yourself,” said Poirot placidly. “Do not play the farce -of the honest, injured man. You know all there is to know about the -blackmail, is it not so?” - -“Sir, I—I’ve never—never been——” - -“Insulted,” suggested Poirot, “in such a way before. Then why, my -excellent Parker, were you so anxious to overhear the conversation in -Mr. Ackroyd’s study the other evening, after you had caught the word -blackmail?” - -“I wasn’t—I——” - -“Who was your last master?” rapped out Poirot suddenly. - -“My last master?” - -“Yes, the master you were with before you came to Mr. Ackroyd.” - -“A Major Ellerby, sir——” - -Poirot took the words out of his mouth. - -“Just so, Major Ellerby. Major Ellerby was addicted to drugs, was he -not? You traveled about with him. When he was in Bermuda there was some -trouble—a man was killed. Major Ellerby was partly responsible. It was -hushed up. But you knew about it. How much did Major Ellerby pay you to -keep your mouth shut?” - -Parker was staring at him open-mouthed. The man had gone to pieces, his -cheeks shook flabbily. - -“You see, me, I have made inquiries,” said Poirot pleasantly. “It is -as I say. You got a good sum then as blackmail, and Major Ellerby went -on paying you until he died. Now I want to hear about your latest -experiment.” - -Parker still stared. - -“It is useless to deny. Hercule Poirot _knows_. It is so, what I have -said about Major Ellerby, is it not?” - -As though against his will, Parker nodded reluctantly once. His face -was ashen pale. - -“But I never hurt a hair of Mr. Ackroyd’s head,” he moaned. “Honest to -God, sir, I didn’t. I’ve been afraid of this coming all the time. And I -tell you I didn’t—I didn’t kill him.” - -His voice rose almost to a scream. - -“I am inclined to believe you, my friend,” said Poirot. “You have not -the nerve—the courage. But I must have the truth.” - -“I’ll tell you anything, sir, anything you want to know. It’s true that -I tried to listen that night. A word or two I heard made me curious. -And Mr. Ackroyd’s wanting not to be disturbed, and shutting himself up -with the doctor the way he did. It’s God’s own truth what I told the -police. I heard the word blackmail, sir, and well——” - -He paused. - -“You thought there might be something in it for you?” suggested Poirot -smoothly. - -“Well—well, yes, I did, sir. I thought that if Mr. Ackroyd was being -blackmailed, why shouldn’t I have a share of the pickings?” - -A very curious expression passed over Poirot’s face. He leaned forward. - -“Had you any reason to suppose before that night that Mr. Ackroyd was -being blackmailed?” - -“No, indeed, sir. It was a great surprise to me. Such a regular -gentleman in all his habits.” - -“How much did you overhear?” - -“Not very much, sir. There seemed what I might call a spite against me. -Of course I had to attend to my duties in the pantry. And when I did -creep along once or twice to the study it was no use. The first time -Dr. Sheppard came out and almost caught me in the act, and another time -Mr. Raymond passed me in the big hall and went that way, so I knew it -was no use; and when I went with the tray, Miss Flora headed me off.” - -Poirot stared for a long time at the man, as if to test his sincerity. -Parker returned his gaze earnestly. - -“I hope you believe me, sir. I’ve been afraid all along the police -would rake up that old business with Major Ellerby and be suspicious of -me in consequence.” - -“_Eh bien_,” said Poirot at last. “I am disposed to believe you. But -there is one thing I must request of you—to show me your bank-book. You -have a bank-book, I presume?” - -“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, I have it with me now.” - -With no sign of confusion, he produced it from his pocket. Poirot took -the slim, green-covered book and perused the entries. - -“Ah! I perceive you have purchased £500 of National Savings -Certificates this year?” - -“Yes, sir. I have already over a thousand pounds saved—the result of -my connection with—er—my late master, Major Ellerby. And I have had -quite a little flutter on some horses this year—very successful. If you -remember, sir, a rank outsider won the Jubilee. I was fortunate enough -to back it—£20.” - -Poirot handed him back the book. - -“I will wish you good-morning. I believe that you have told me the -truth. If you have not—so much the worse for you, my friend.” - -When Parker had departed, Poirot picked up his overcoat once more. - -“Going out again?” I asked. - -“Yes, we will pay a little visit to the good M. Hammond.” - -“You believe Parker’s story?” - -“It is credible enough on the face of it. It seems clear that—unless -he is a very good actor indeed—he genuinely believes it was Ackroyd -himself who was the victim of blackmail. If so, he knows nothing at all -about the Mrs. Ferrars business.” - -“Then in that case—who——” - -“_Précisément!_ Who? But our visit to M. Hammond will accomplish one -purpose. It will either clear Parker completely or else——” - -“Well?” - -“I fall into the bad habit of leaving my sentences unfinished this -morning,” said Poirot apologetically. “You must bear with me.” - -“By the way,” I said, rather sheepishly, “I’ve got a confession to -make. I’m afraid I have inadvertently let out something about that -ring.” - -“What ring?” - -“The ring you found in the goldfish pond.” - -“Ah! yes,” said Poirot, smiling broadly. - -“I hope you’re not annoyed? It was very careless of me.” - -“But not at all, my good friend, not at all. I laid no commands upon -you. You were at liberty to speak of it if you so wished. She was -interested, your sister?” - -“She was indeed. It created a sensation. All sorts of theories are -flying about.” - -“Ah! And yet it is so simple. The true explanation leapt to the eye, -did it not?” - -“Did it?” I said dryly. - -Poirot laughed. - -“The wise man does not commit himself,” he observed. “Is not that so? -But here we are at Mr. Hammond’s.” - -The lawyer was in his office, and we were ushered in without any delay. -He rose and greeted us in his dry, precise manner. - -Poirot came at once to the point. - -“Monsieur, I desire from you certain information, that is, if you will -be so good as to give it to me. You acted, I understand, for the late -Mrs. Ferrars of King’s Paddock?” - -I noticed the swift gleam of surprise which showed in the lawyer’s -eyes, before his professional reserve came down once more like a mask -over his face. - -“Certainly. All her affairs passed through our hands.” - -“Very good. Now, before I ask you to tell me anything, I should like -you to listen to the story Dr. Sheppard will relate to you. You have no -objection, have you, my friend, to repeating the conversation you had -with Mr. Ackroyd last Friday night?” - -“Not in the least,” I said, and straightway began the recital of that -strange evening. - -Hammond listened with close attention. - -“That is all,” I said, when I had finished. - -“Blackmail,” said the lawyer thoughtfully. - -“You are surprised?” asked Poirot. - -The lawyer took off his pince-nez and polished them with his -handkerchief. - -“No,” he replied, “I can hardly say that I am surprised. I have -suspected something of the kind for some time.” - -“That brings us,” said Poirot, “to the information for which I am -asking. If any one can give us an idea of the actual sums paid, you are -the man, monsieur.” - -“I see no object in withholding the information,” said Hammond, after -a moment or two. “During the past year, Mrs. Ferrars has sold out -certain securities, and the money for them was paid into her account -and not reinvested. As her income was a large one, and she lived very -quietly after her husband’s death, it seems certain that these sums of -money were paid away for some special purpose. I once sounded her on -the subject, and she said that she was obliged to support several of -her husband’s poor relations. I let the matter drop, of course. Until -now, I have always imagined that the money was paid to some woman who -had had a claim on Ashley Ferrars. I never dreamed that Mrs. Ferrars -herself was involved.” - -“And the amount?” asked Poirot. - -“In all, I should say the various sums totaled at least twenty thousand -pounds.” - -“Twenty thousand pounds!” I exclaimed. “In one year!” - -“Mrs. Ferrars was a very wealthy woman,” said Poirot dryly. “And the -penalty for murder is not a pleasant one.” - -“Is there anything else that I can tell you?” inquired Mr. Hammond. - -“I thank you, no,” said Poirot, rising. “All my excuses for having -deranged you.” - -“Not at all, not at all.” - -“The word derange,” I remarked, when we were outside again, “is -applicable to mental disorder only.” - -“Ah!” cried Poirot, “never will my English be quite perfect. A curious -language. I should then have said disarranged, _n’est-ce pas_?” - -“Disturbed is the word you had in mind.” - -“I thank you, my friend. The word exact, you are zealous for it. _Eh -bien_, what about our friend Parker now? With twenty thousand pounds -in hand, would he have continued being a butler? _Je ne pense pas._ It -is, of course, possible that he banked the money under another name, -but I am disposed to believe he spoke the truth to us. If he is a -scoundrel, he is a scoundrel on a mean scale. He has not the big ideas. -That leaves us as a possibility, Raymond, or—well—Major Blunt.” - -“Surely not Raymond,” I objected. “Since we know that he was -desperately hard up for a matter of five hundred pounds.” - -“That is what he says, yes.” - -“And as to Hector Blunt——” - -“I will tell you something as to the good Major Blunt,” interrupted -Poirot. “It is my business to make inquiries. I make them. _Eh -bien_—that legacy of which he speaks, I have discovered that the amount -of it was close upon twenty thousand pounds. What do you think of that?” - -I was so taken aback that I could hardly speak. - -“It’s impossible,” I said at last. “A well-known man like Hector Blunt.” - -Poirot shrugged his shoulders. - -“Who knows? At least he is a man with big ideas. I confess that I -hardly see him as a blackmailer, but there is another possibility that -you have not even considered.” - -“What is that?” - -“The fire, my friend. Ackroyd himself may have destroyed that letter, -blue envelope and all, after you left him.” - -“I hardly think that likely,” I said slowly. “And yet—of course, it -may be so. He might have changed his mind.” - -We had just arrived at my house, and on the spur of the moment I -invited Poirot to come in and take pot luck. - -I thought Caroline would be pleased with me, but it is hard to satisfy -one’s women folk. It appears that we were eating chops for lunch—the -kitchen staff being regaled on tripe and onions. And two chops set -before three people are productive of embarrassment. - -But Caroline is seldom daunted for long. With magnificent mendacity, -she explained to Poirot that although James laughed at her for -doing so, she adhered strictly to a vegetarian diet. She descanted -ecstatically on the delights of nut cutlets (which I am quite sure -she has never tasted) and ate a Welsh rarebit with gusto and frequent -cutting remarks as to the dangers of “flesh” foods. - -Afterwards, when we were sitting in front of the fire and smoking, -Caroline attacked Poirot directly. - -“Not found Ralph Paton yet?” she asked. - -“Where should I find him, mademoiselle?” - -“I thought, perhaps, you’d found him in Cranchester,” said Caroline, -with intense meaning in her tone. - -Poirot looked merely bewildered. - -“In Cranchester? But why in Cranchester?” - -I enlightened him with a touch of malice. - -“One of our ample staff of private detectives happened to see you in a -car on the Cranchester road yesterday,” I explained. - -Poirot’s bewilderment vanished. He laughed heartily. - -“Ah, that! A simple visit to the dentist, _c’est tout_. My tooth, it -aches. I go there. My tooth, it is at once better. I think to return -quickly. The dentist, he says No. Better to have it out. I argue. He -insists. He has his way! That particular tooth, it will never ache -again.” - -Caroline collapsed rather like a pricked balloon. - -We fell to discussing Ralph Paton. - -“A weak nature,” I insisted. “But not a vicious one.” - -“Ah!” said Poirot. “But weakness, where does it end?” - -“Exactly,” said Caroline. “Take James here—weak as water, if I weren’t -about to look after him.” - -“My dear Caroline,” I said irritably, “can’t you talk without dragging -in personalities?” - -“You _are_ weak, James,” said Caroline, quite unmoved. “I’m eight years -older than you are—oh! I don’t mind M. Poirot knowing that——” - -“I should never have guessed it, mademoiselle,” said Poirot, with a -gallant little bow. - -“Eight years older. But I’ve always considered it my duty to look after -you. With a bad bringing up, Heaven knows what mischief you might have -got into by now.” - -“I might have married a beautiful adventuress,” I murmured, gazing at -the ceiling, and blowing smoke rings. - -“Adventuress!” said Caroline, with a snort. “If we’re talking of -adventuresses——” - -She left the sentence unfinished. - -“Well?” I said, with some curiosity. - -“Nothing. But I can think of some one not a hundred miles away.” - -Then she turned to Poirot suddenly. - -“James sticks to it that you believe some one in the house committed -the murder. All I can say is, you’re wrong.” - -“I should not like to be wrong,” said Poirot. “It is not—how do you -say—my _métier_?” - -“I’ve got the facts pretty clearly,” continued Caroline, taking no -notice of Poirot’s remark, “from James and others. As far as I can see, -of the people in the house, only two _could_ have had the chance of -doing it. Ralph Paton and Flora Ackroyd.” - -“My dear Caroline——” - -“Now, James, don’t interrupt me. I know what I’m talking about. Parker -met her _outside_ the door, didn’t he? He didn’t hear her uncle saying -good-night to her. She could have killed him then and there.” - -“Caroline.” - -“I’m not saying she _did_, James. I’m saying she _could_ have done. As -a matter of fact, though Flora is like all these young girls nowadays, -with no veneration for their betters and thinking they know best on -every subject under the sun, I don’t for a minute believe she’d kill -even a chicken. But there it is. Mr. Raymond and Major Blunt have -alibis. Mrs. Ackroyd’s got an alibi. Even that Russell woman seems to -have one—and a good job for her it is she has. Who is left? Only Ralph -and Flora! And say what you will, I don’t believe Ralph Paton is a -murderer. A boy we’ve known all our lives.” - -Poirot was silent for a minute, watching the curling smoke rise from -his cigarette. When at last he spoke, it was in a gentle far-away voice -that produced a curious impression. It was totally unlike his usual -manner. - -“Let us take a man—a very ordinary man. A man with no idea of murder -in his heart. There is in him somewhere a strain of weakness—deep -down. It has so far never been called into play. Perhaps it never will -be—and if so he will go to his grave honored and respected by every -one. But let us suppose that something occurs. He is in difficulties—or -perhaps not that even. He may stumble by accident on a secret—a secret -involving life or death to some one. And his first impulse will be to -speak out—to do his duty as an honest citizen. And then the strain of -weakness tells. Here is a chance of money—a great amount of money. -He wants money—he desires it—and it is so easy. He has to do nothing -for it—just keep silence. That is the beginning. The desire for money -grows. He must have more—and more! He is intoxicated by the gold mine -which has opened at his feet. He becomes greedy. And in his greed he -overreaches himself. One can press a man as far as one likes—but with -a woman one must not press too far. For a woman has at heart a great -desire to speak the truth. How many husbands who have deceived their -wives go comfortably to their graves, carrying their secret with them! -How many wives who have deceived their husbands wreck their lives by -throwing the fact in those same husbands’ teeth! They have been pressed -too far. In a reckless moment (which they will afterwards regret, _bien -entendu_) they fling safety to the winds and turn at bay, proclaiming -the truth with great momentary satisfaction to themselves. So it was, I -think, in this case. The strain was too great. And so there came your -proverb, the death of the goose that laid the golden eggs. But that is -not the end. Exposure faced the man of whom we are speaking. And he is -not the same man he was—say, a year ago. His moral fiber is blunted. -He is desperate. He is fighting a losing battle, and he is prepared to -take any means that come to his hand, for exposure means ruin to him. -And so—the dagger strikes!” - -He was silent for a moment. It was as though he had laid a spell upon -the room. I cannot try to describe the impression his words produced. -There was something in the merciless analysis, and the ruthless power -of vision which struck fear into both of us. - -“Afterwards,” he went on softly, “the danger removed, he will be -himself again, normal, kindly. But if the need again arises, then once -more he will strike.” - -Caroline roused herself at last. - -“You are speaking of Ralph Paton,” she said. “You may be right, you may -not, but you have no business to condemn a man unheard.” - -The telephone bell rang sharply. I went out into the hall, and took off -the receiver. - -“What?” I said. “Yes. Dr. Sheppard speaking.” - -I listened for a minute or two, then replied briefly. Replacing the -receiver, I went back into the drawing-room. - -“Poirot,” I said, “they have detained a man at Liverpool. His name is -Charles Kent, and he is believed to be the stranger who visited Fernly -that night. They want me to go to Liverpool at once and identify him.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CHARLES KENT - - -Half an hour later saw Poirot, myself, and Inspector Raglan in the -train on the way to Liverpool. The inspector was clearly very excited. - -“We may get a line on the blackmailing part of the business, if on -nothing else,” he declared jubilantly. “He’s a rough customer, this -fellow, by what I heard over the phone. Takes dope, too. We ought to -find it easy to get what we want out of him. If there was the shadow of -a motive, nothing’s more likely than that he killed Mr. Ackroyd. But in -that case, why is young Paton keeping out of the way? The whole thing’s -a muddle—that’s what it is. By the way, M. Poirot, you were quite right -about those fingerprints. They were Mr. Ackroyd’s own. I had rather the -same idea myself, but I dismissed it as hardly feasible.” - -I smiled to myself. Inspector Raglan was so very plainly saving his -face. - -“As regards this man,” said Poirot, “he is not yet arrested, eh?” - -“No, detained under suspicion.” - -“And what account does he give of himself?” - -“Precious little,” said the inspector, with a grin. “He’s a wary bird, -I gather. A lot of abuse, but very little more.” - -On arrival at Liverpool I was surprised to find that Poirot was -welcomed with acclamation. Superintendent Hayes, who met us, had worked -with Poirot over some case long ago, and had evidently an exaggerated -opinion of his powers. - -“Now we’ve got M. Poirot here we shan’t be long,” he said cheerfully. -“I thought you’d retired, moosior?” - -“So I had, my good Hayes, so I had. But how tedious is retirement! You -cannot imagine to yourself the monotony with which day comes after day.” - -“Very likely. So you’ve come to have a look at our own particular find? -Is this Dr. Sheppard? Think you’ll be able to identify him, sir?” - -“I’m not very sure,” I said doubtfully. - -“How did you get hold of him?” inquired Poirot. - -“Description was circulated, as you know. In the press and privately. -Not much to go on, I admit. This fellow has an American accent all -right, and he doesn’t deny that he was near King’s Abbot that night. -Just asks what the hell it is to do with us, and that he’ll see us in -—— before he answers any questions.” - -“Is it permitted that I, too, see him?” asked Poirot. - -The superintendent closed one eye knowingly. - -“Very glad to have you, sir. You’ve got permission to do anything you -please. Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard was asking after you the other -day. Said he’d heard you were connected unofficially with this case. -Where’s Captain Paton hiding, sir, can you tell me that?” - -“I doubt if it would be wise at the present juncture,” said Poirot -primly, and I bit my lips to prevent a smile. - -The little man really did it very well. - -After some further parley, we were taken to interview the prisoner. - -He was a young fellow, I should say not more than twenty-two or -three. Tall, thin, with slightly shaking hands, and the evidences of -considerable physical strength somewhat run to seed. His hair was dark, -but his eyes were blue and shifty, seldom meeting a glance squarely. I -had all along cherished the illusion that there was something familiar -about the figure I had met that night, but if this were indeed he, I -was completely mistaken. He did not remind me in the least of any one I -knew. - -“Now then, Kent,” said the superintendent, “stand up. Here are some -visitors come to see you. Recognize any of them.” - -Kent glared at us sullenly, but did not reply. I saw his glance waver -over the three of us, and come back to rest on me. - -“Well, sir,” said the superintendent to me, “what do you say?” - -“The height’s the same,” I said, “and as far as general appearance goes -it might well be the man in question. Beyond that, I couldn’t go.” - -“What the hell’s the meaning of all this?” asked Kent. “What have you -got against me? Come on, out with it! What am I supposed to have done?” - -I nodded my head. - -“It’s the man,” I said. “I recognize the voice.” - -“Recognize my voice, do you? Where do you think you heard it before?” - -“On Friday evening last, outside the gates of Fernly Park. You asked me -the way there.” - -“I did, did I?” - -“Do you admit it?” asked the inspector. - -“I don’t admit anything. Not till I know what you’ve got on me.” - -“Have you not read the papers in the last few days?” asked Poirot, -speaking for the first time. - -The man’s eyes narrowed. - -“So that’s it, is it? I saw an old gent had been croaked at Fernly. -Trying to make out I did the job, are you?” - -“You were there that night,” said Poirot quietly. - -“How do you know, mister?” - -“By this.” Poirot took something from his pocket and held it out. - -It was the goose quill we had found in the summer-house. - -At the sight of it the man’s face changed. He half held out his hand. - -“Snow,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “No, my friend, it is empty. It lay -where you dropped it in the summer-house that night.” - -Charles Kent looked at him uncertainly. - -“You seem to know a hell of a lot about everything, you little foreign -cock duck. Perhaps you remember this: the papers say that the old gent -was croaked between a quarter to ten and ten o’clock?” - -“That is so,” agreed Poirot. - -“Yes, but is it really so? That’s what I’m getting at.” - -“This gentleman will tell you,” said Poirot. - -He indicated Inspector Raglan. The latter hesitated, glanced at -Superintendent Hayes, then at Poirot, and finally, as though receiving -sanction, he said:— - -“That’s right. Between a quarter to ten and ten o’clock.” - -“Then you’ve nothing to keep me here for,” said Kent. “I was away from -Fernly Park by twenty-five minutes past nine. You can ask at the Dog -and Whistle. That’s a saloon about a mile out of Fernly on the road to -Cranchester. I kicked up a bit of a row there, I remember. As near as -nothing to quarter to ten, it was. How about that?” - -Inspector Raglan wrote down something in his notebook. - -“Well?” demanded Kent. - -“Inquiries will be made,” said the inspector. “If you’ve spoken the -truth, you won’t have anything to complain about. What were you doing -at Fernly Park anyway?” - -“Went there to meet some one.” - -“Who?” - -“That’s none of your business.” - -“You’d better keep a civil tongue in your head, my man,” the -superintendent warned him. - -“To hell with a civil tongue. I went there on my own business, and -that’s all there is to it. If I was clear away before the murder was -done, that’s all that concerns the cops.” - -“Your name, it is Charles Kent,” said Poirot. “Where were you born?” - -The man stared at him, then he grinned. - -“I’m a full-blown Britisher all right,” he said. - -“Yes,” said Poirot meditatively, “I think you are. I fancy you were -born in Kent.” - -The man stared. - -“Why’s that? Because of my name? What’s that to do with it? Is a man -whose name is Kent bound to be born in that particular county?” - -“Under certain circumstances, I can imagine he might be,” said Poirot -very deliberately. “Under certain circumstances, you comprehend.” - -There was so much meaning in his voice as to surprise the two police -officers. As for Charles Kent, he flushed a brick red, and for a moment -I thought he was going to spring at Poirot. He thought better of it, -however, and turned away with a kind of laugh. - -Poirot nodded as though satisfied, and made his way out through the -door. He was joined presently by the two officers. - -“We’ll verify that statement,” remarked Raglan. “I don’t think he’s -lying, though. But he’s got to come clear with a statement as to -what he was doing at Fernly. It looks to me as though we’d got our -blackmailer all right. On the other hand, granted his story’s correct, -he couldn’t have had anything to do with the actual murder. He’d got -ten pounds on him when he was arrested—rather a large sum. I fancy that -forty pounds went to him—the numbers of the notes didn’t correspond, -but of course he’d have changed them first thing. Mr. Ackroyd must -have given him the money, and he made off with it as fast as possible. -What was that about Kent being his birthplace? What’s that got to do -with it?” - -“Nothing whatever,” said Poirot mildly. “A little idea of mine, that -was all. Me, I am famous for my little ideas.” - -“Are you really?” said Raglan, studying him with a puzzled expression. - -The superintendent went into a roar of laughter. - -“Many’s the time I’ve heard Inspector Japp say that. M. Poirot and his -little ideas! Too fanciful for me, he’d say, but always something in -them.” - -“You mock yourself at me,” said Poirot, smiling; “but never mind. The -old ones they laugh last sometimes, when the young, clever ones do not -laugh at all.” - -And nodding his head at them in a sage manner, he walked out into the -street. - -He and I lunched together at an hotel. I know now that the whole thing -lay clearly unravelled before him. He had got the last thread he needed -to lead him to the truth. - -But at the time I had no suspicion of the fact. I overestimated his -general self-confidence, and I took it for granted that the things -which puzzled me must be equally puzzling to him. - -My chief puzzle was what the man Charles Kent could have been doing at -Fernly. Again and again I put the question to myself and could get no -satisfactory reply. - -At last I ventured a tentative query to Poirot. His reply was immediate. - -“_Mon ami_, I do not think; I know.” - -“Really?” I said incredulously. - -“Yes, indeed. I suppose now that to you it would not make sense if I -said that he went to Fernly that night because he was born in Kent?” - -I stared at him. - -“It certainly doesn’t seem to make sense to me,” I said dryly. - -“Ah!” said Poirot pityingly. “Well, no matter. I have still my little -idea.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - FLORA ACKROYD - - -As I was returning from my round the following morning, I was hailed by -Inspector Raglan. I pulled up, and the inspector mounted on the step. - -“Good-morning, Dr. Sheppard,” he said. “Well, that alibi is all right -enough.” - -“Charles Kent’s?” - -“Charles Kent’s. The barmaid at the Dog and Whistle, Sally Jones, she -remembers him perfectly. Picked out his photograph from among five -others. It was just a quarter to ten when he came into the bar, and the -Dog and Whistle is well over a mile from Fernly Park. The girl mentions -that he had a lot of money on him—she saw him take a handful of notes -out of his pocket. Rather surprised her, it did, seeing the class of -fellow he was, with a pair of boots clean dropping off him. That’s -where that forty pounds went right enough.” - -“The man still refuses to give an account of his visit to Fernly?” - -“Obstinate as a mule he is. I had a chat with Hayes at Liverpool over -the wire this morning.” - -“Hercule Poirot says he knows the reason the man went there that -night,” I observed. - -“Does he?” cried the inspector eagerly. - -“Yes,” I said maliciously. “He says he went there because he was born -in Kent.” - -I felt a distinct pleasure in passing on my own discomfiture. - -Raglan stared at me for a moment or two uncomprehendingly. Then a -grin overspread his weaselly countenance and he tapped his forehead -significantly. - -“Bit gone here,” he said. “I’ve thought so for some time. Poor old -chap, so that’s why he had to give up and come down here. In the -family, very likely. He’s got a nephew who’s quite off his crumpet.” - -“Poirot has?” I said, very surprised. - -“Yes. Hasn’t he ever mentioned him to you? Quite docile, I believe, and -all that, but mad as a hatter, poor lad.” - -“Who told you that?” - -Again a grin showed itself on Inspector Raglan’s face. - -“Your sister, Miss Sheppard, she told me all about it.” - -Really, Caroline is amazing. She never rests until she knows the last -details of everybody’s family secrets. Unfortunately, I have never been -able to instill into her the decency of keeping them to herself. - -“Jump in, inspector,” I said, opening the door of the car. “We’ll go -up to The Larches together, and acquaint our Belgian friend with the -latest news.” - -“Might as well, I suppose. After all, even if he is a bit balmy, it was -a useful tip he gave me about those fingerprints. He’s got a bee in his -bonnet about the man Kent, but who knows—there may be something useful -behind it.” - -Poirot received us with his usual smiling courtesy. - -He listened to the information we had brought him, nodding his head now -and then. - -“Seems quite O.K., doesn’t it?” said the inspector rather gloomily. “A -chap can’t be murdering some one in one place when he’s drinking in the -bar in another place a mile away.” - -“Are you going to release him?” - -“Don’t see what else we can do. We can’t very well hold him for -obtaining money on false pretences. Can’t prove a ruddy thing.” - -The inspector tossed a match into the grate in a disgruntled fashion. -Poirot retrieved it and put it neatly in a little receptacle designed -for the purpose. His action was purely mechanical. I could see that his -thoughts were on something very different. - -“If I were you,” he said at last, “I should not release the man Charles -Kent yet.” - -“What do you mean?” - -Raglan stared at him. - -“What I say. I should not release him yet.” - -“You don’t think he can have had anything to do with the murder, do -you?” - -“I think probably not—but one cannot be certain yet.” - -“But haven’t I just told you——” - -Poirot raised a hand protestingly. - -“_Mais oui, mais oui._ I heard. I am not deaf—nor stupid, thank the -good God! But see you, you approach the matter from the wrong—the -wrong—premises, is not that the word?” - -The inspector stared at him heavily. - -“I don’t see how you make that out. Look here, we know Mr. Ackroyd was -alive at a quarter to ten. You admit that, don’t you?” - -Poirot looked at him for a moment, then shook his head with a quick -smile. - -“I admit nothing that is not—_proved_!” - -“Well, we’ve got proof enough of that. We’ve got Miss Flora Ackroyd’s -evidence.” - -“That she said good-night to her uncle? But me—I do not always believe -what a young lady tells me—no, not even when she is charming and -beautiful.” - -“But hang it all, man, Parker saw her coming out of the door.” - -“No.” Poirot’s voice rang out with sudden sharpness. “That is just what -he did not see. I satisfied myself of that by a little experiment the -other day—you remember, doctor? Parker saw her _outside_ the door, with -her hand on the handle. He did not see her come out of the room.” - -“But—where else could she have been?” - -“Perhaps on the stairs.” - -“The stairs?” - -“That is my little idea—yes.” - -“But those stairs only lead to Mr. Ackroyd’s bedroom.” - -“Precisely.” - -And still the inspector stared. - -“You think she’d been up to her uncle’s bedroom? Well, why not? Why -should she lie about it?” - -“Ah! that is just the question. It depends on what she was doing there, -does it not?” - -“You mean—the money? Hang it all, you don’t suggest that it was Miss -Ackroyd who took that forty pounds?” - -“I suggest nothing,” said Poirot. “But I will remind you of this. Life -was not very easy for that mother and daughter. There were bills—there -was constant trouble over small sums of money. Roger Ackroyd was a -peculiar man over money matters. The girl might be at her wit’s end for -a comparatively small sum. Figure to yourself then what happens. She -has taken the money, she descends the little staircase. When she is -half-way down she hears the chink of glass from the hall. She has not a -doubt of what it is—Parker coming to the study. At all costs she must -not be found on the stairs—Parker will not forget it, he will think it -odd. If the money is missed, Parker is sure to remember having seen her -come down those stairs. She has just time to rush down to the study -door—with her hand on the handle to show that she has just come out, -when Parker appears in the doorway. She says the first thing that comes -into her head, a repetition of Roger Ackroyd’s orders earlier in the -evening, and then goes upstairs to her own room.” - -“Yes, but later,” persisted the inspector, “she must have realized the -vital importance of speaking the truth? Why, the whole case hinges on -it!” - -“Afterwards,” said Poirot dryly, “it was a little difficult for -Mademoiselle Flora. She is told simply that the police are here and -that there has been a robbery. Naturally she jumps to the conclusion -that the theft of the money has been discovered. Her one idea is to -stick to her story. When she learns that her uncle is dead she is -panic-stricken. Young women do not faint nowadays, monsieur, without -considerable provocation. _Eh bien!_ there it is. She is bound to stick -to her story, or else confess everything. And a young and pretty girl -does not like to admit that she is a thief—especially before those -whose esteem she is anxious to retain.” - -Raglan brought his fist down with a thump on the table. - -“I’ll not believe it,” he said. “It’s—it’s not credible. And you—you’ve -known this all along?” - -“The possibility has been in my mind from the first,” admitted Poirot. -“I was always convinced that Mademoiselle Flora was hiding something -from us. To satisfy myself, I made the little experiment I told you of. -Dr. Sheppard accompanied me.” - -“A test for Parker, you said it was,” I remarked bitterly. - -“_Mon ami_,” said Poirot apologetically, “as I told you at the time, -one must say something.” - -The inspector rose. - -“There’s only one thing for it,” he declared. “We must tackle the young -lady right away. You’ll come up to Fernly with me, M. Poirot?” - -“Certainly. Dr. Sheppard will drive us up in his car.” - -I acquiesced willingly. - -On inquiry for Miss Ackroyd, we were shown into the billiard room. -Flora and Major Hector Blunt were sitting on the long window seat. - -“Good-morning, Miss Ackroyd,” said the inspector. “Can we have a word -or two alone with you?” - -Blunt got up at once and moved to the door. - -“What is it?” asked Flora nervously. “Don’t go, Major Blunt. He can -stay, can’t he?” she asked, turning to the inspector. - -“That’s as you like,” said the inspector dryly. “There’s a question -or two it’s my duty to put to you, miss, but I’d prefer to do so -privately, and I dare say you’d prefer it also.” - -Flora looked keenly at him. I saw her face grow whiter. Then she turned -and spoke to Blunt. - -“I want you to stay—please—yes, I mean it. Whatever the inspector has -to say to me, I’d rather you heard it.” - -Raglan shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, if you will have it so, that’s all there is to it. Now, Miss -Ackroyd, M. Poirot here has made a certain suggestion to me. He -suggests that you weren’t in the study at all last Friday night, that -you never saw Mr. Ackroyd to say good-night to him, that instead of -being in the study you were on the stairs leading down from your -uncle’s bedroom when you heard Parker coming across the hall.” - -Flora’s gaze shifted to Poirot. He nodded back at her. - -“Mademoiselle, the other day, when we sat round the table, I implored -you to be frank with me. What one does not tell to Papa Poirot he finds -out. It was that, was it not? See, I will make it easy for you. You -took the money, did you not?” - -“The money,” said Blunt sharply. - -There was a silence which lasted for at least a minute. - -Then Flora drew herself up and spoke. - -“M. Poirot is right. I took that money. I stole. I am a thief—yes, a -common, vulgar little thief. Now you know! I am glad it has come out. -It’s been a nightmare, these last few days!” She sat down suddenly and -buried her face in her hands. She spoke huskily through her fingers. -“You don’t know what my life has been since I came here. Wanting -things, scheming for them, lying, cheating, running up bills, promising -to pay—oh! I hate myself when I think of it all! That’s what brought us -together, Ralph and I. We were both weak! I understood him, and I was -sorry—because I’m the same underneath. We’re not strong enough to stand -alone, either of us. We’re weak, miserable, despicable things.” - -She looked at Blunt and suddenly stamped her foot. - -“Why do you look at me like that—as though you couldn’t believe? I may -be a thief—but at any rate I’m real now. I’m not lying any more. I’m -not pretending to be the kind of girl you like, young and innocent and -simple. I don’t care if you never want to see me again. I hate myself, -despise myself—but you’ve got to believe one thing, if speaking the -truth would have made things better for Ralph, I would have spoken out. -But I’ve seen all along that it wouldn’t be better for Ralph—it makes -the case against him blacker than ever. I was not doing him any harm by -sticking to my lie.” - -“Ralph,” said Blunt. “I see—always Ralph.” - -“You don’t understand,” said Flora hopelessly. “You never will.” - -She turned to the inspector. - -“I admit everything; I was at my wit’s end for money. I never saw my -uncle that evening after he left the dinner-table. As to the money, you -can take what steps you please. Nothing could be worse than it is now!” - -Suddenly she broke down again, hid her face in her hands, and rushed -from the room. - -“Well,” said the inspector in a flat tone, “so that’s that.” - -He seemed rather at a loss what to do next. - -Blunt came forward. - -“Inspector Raglan,” he said quietly, “that money was given to me by Mr. -Ackroyd for a special purpose. Miss Ackroyd never touched it. When she -says she did, she is lying with the idea of shielding Captain Paton. -The truth is as I said, and I am prepared to go into the witness box -and swear to it.” - -He made a kind of jerky bow, then turning abruptly, he left the room. - -Poirot was after him in a flash. He caught the other up in the hall. - -“Monsieur—a moment, I beg of you, if you will be so good.” - -“Well, sir?” - -Blunt was obviously impatient. He stood frowning down on Poirot. - -“It is this,” said Poirot rapidly: “I am not deceived by your little -fantasy. No, indeed. It was truly Miss Flora who took the money. All -the same it is well imagined what you say—it pleases me. It is very -good what you have done there. You are a man quick to think and to act.” - -“I’m not in the least anxious for your opinion, thank you,” said Blunt -coldly. - -He made once more as though to pass on, but Poirot, not at all -offended, laid a detaining hand on his arm. - -“Ah! but you are to listen to me. I have more to say. The other day I -spoke of concealments. Very well, all along have I seen what you are -concealing. Mademoiselle Flora, you love her with all your heart. From -the first moment you saw her, is it not so? Oh! let us not mind saying -these things—why must one in England think it necessary to mention -love as though it were some disgraceful secret? You love Mademoiselle -Flora. You seek to conceal that fact from all the world. That is very -good—that is as it should be. But take the advice of Hercule Poirot—do -not conceal it from mademoiselle herself.” - -Blunt had shown several signs of restlessness whilst Poirot was -speaking, but the closing words seemed to rivet his attention. - -“What d’you mean by that?” he said sharply. - -“You think that she loves the Capitaine Ralph Paton—but I, Hercule -Poirot, tell you that that is not so. Mademoiselle Flora accepted -Captain Paton to please her uncle, and because she saw in the marriage -a way of escape from her life here which was becoming frankly -insupportable to her. She liked him, and there was much sympathy -and understanding between them. But love—no! It is not Captain Paton -Mademoiselle Flora loves.” - -“What the devil do you mean?” asked Blunt. - -I saw the dark flush under his tan. - -“You have been blind, monsieur. Blind! She is loyal, the little one. -Ralph Paton is under a cloud, she is bound in honor to stick by him.” - -I felt it was time I put in a word to help on the good work. - -“My sister told me the other night,” I said encouragingly, “that Flora -had never cared a penny piece for Ralph Paton, and never would. My -sister is always right about these things.” - -Blunt ignored my well-meant efforts. He spoke to Poirot. - -“D’you really think——” he began, and stopped. - -He is one of those inarticulate men who find it hard to put things into -words. - -Poirot knows no such disability. - -“If you doubt me, ask her yourself, monsieur. But perhaps you no longer -care to—the affair of the money——” - -Blunt gave a sound like an angry laugh. - -“Think I’d hold that against her? Roger was always a queer chap about -money. She got in a mess and didn’t dare tell him. Poor kid. Poor -lonely kid.” - -Poirot looked thoughtfully at the side door. - -“Mademoiselle Flora went into the garden, I think,” he murmured. - -“I’ve been every kind of a fool,” said Blunt abruptly. “Rum -conversation we’ve been having. Like one of those Danish plays. But -you’re a sound fellow, M. Poirot. Thank you.” - -He took Poirot’s hand and gave it a grip which caused the other to -wince in anguish. Then he strode to the side door and passed out into -the garden. - -“Not every kind of a fool,” murmured Poirot, tenderly nursing the -injured member. “Only one kind—the fool in love.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - MISS RUSSELL - - -Inspector Raglan had received a bad jolt. He was not deceived by -Blunt’s valiant lie any more than we had been. Our way back to the -village was punctuated by his complaints. - -“This alters everything, this does. I don’t know whether you’ve -realized it, Monsieur Poirot?” - -“I think so, yes, I think so,” said Poirot. “You see, me, I have been -familiar with the idea for some time.” - -Inspector Raglan, who had only had the idea presented to him a short -half-hour ago, looked at Poirot unhappily, and went on with his -discoveries. - -“Those alibis now. Worthless! Absolutely worthless. Got to start -again. Find out what every one was doing from nine-thirty onwards. -Nine-thirty—that’s the time we’ve got to hang on to. You were quite -right about the man Kent—we don’t release _him_ yet awhile. Let me see -now—nine-forty-five at the Dog and Whistle. He might have got there -in a quarter of an hour if he ran. It’s just possible that it was -_his_ voice Mr. Raymond heard talking to Mr. Ackroyd—asking for money -which Mr. Ackroyd refused. But one thing’s clear—it wasn’t he who -sent the telephone message. The station is half a mile in the other -direction—over a mile and a half from the Dog and Whistle, and he was -at the Dog and Whistle until about ten minutes past ten. Dang that -telephone call! We always come up against it.” - -“We do indeed,” agreed Poirot. “It is curious.” - -“It’s just possible that if Captain Paton climbed into his uncle’s room -and found him there murdered, _he_ may have sent it. Got the wind up, -thought he’d be accused, and cleared out. That’s possible, isn’t it?” - -“Why should he have telephoned?” - -“May have had doubts if the old man was really dead. Thought he’d -get the doctor up there as soon as possible, but didn’t want to give -himself away. Yes, I say now, how’s that for a theory? Something in -that, I should say.” - -The inspector swelled his chest out importantly. He was so plainly -delighted with himself that any words of ours would have been quite -superfluous. - -We arrived back at my house at this minute, and I hurried in to my -surgery patients, who had all been waiting a considerable time, leaving -Poirot to walk to the police station with the inspector. - -Having dismissed the last patient, I strolled into the little room at -the back of the house which I call my workshop—I am rather proud of the -home-made wireless set I turned out. Caroline hates my workroom. I keep -my tools there, and Annie is not allowed to wreak havoc with a dustpan -and brush. I was just adjusting the interior of an alarm clock which -had been denounced as wholly unreliable by the household, when the door -opened and Caroline put her head in. - -“Oh! there you are, James,” she said, with deep disapproval. “M. Poirot -wants to see you.” - -“Well,” I said, rather irritably, for her sudden entrance had startled -me and I had let go of a piece of delicate mechanism, “if he wants to -see me, he can come in here.” - -“In here?” said Caroline. - -“That’s what I said—in here.” - -Caroline gave a sniff of disapproval and retired. She returned in a -moment or two, ushering in Poirot, and then retired again, shutting the -door with a bang. - -“Aha! my friend,” said Poirot, coming forward and rubbing his hands. -“You have not got rid of me so easily, you see!” - -“Finished with the inspector?” I asked. - -“For the moment, yes. And you, you have seen all the patients?” - -“Yes.” - -Poirot sat down and looked at me, tilting his egg-shaped head on one -side, with the air of one who savors a very delicious joke. - -“You are in error,” he said at last. “You have still one patient to -see.” - -“Not you?” I exclaimed in surprise. - -“Ah, not me, _bien entendu_. Me, I have the health magnificent. No, to -tell you the truth, it is a little _complot_ of mine. There is some one -I wish to see, you understand—and at the same time it is not necessary -that the whole village should intrigue itself about the matter—which is -what would happen if the lady were seen to come to my house—for it is -a lady. But to you she has already come as a patient before.” - -“Miss Russell!” I exclaimed. - -“_Précisément._ I wish much to speak with her, so I send her the little -note and make the appointment in your surgery. You are not annoyed with -me?” - -“On the contrary,” I said. “That is, presuming I am allowed to be -present at the interview?” - -“But naturally! In your own surgery!” - -“You know,” I said, throwing down the pincers I was holding, “it’s -extraordinarily intriguing, the whole thing. Every new development that -arises is like the shake you give to a kaleidoscope—the thing changes -entirely in aspect. Now, why are you so anxious to see Miss Russell?” - -Poirot raised his eyebrows. - -“Surely it is obvious?” he murmured. - -“There you go again,” I grumbled. “According to you everything is -obvious. But you leave me walking about in a fog.” - -Poirot shook his head genially at me. - -“You mock yourself at me. Take the matter of Mademoiselle Flora. The -inspector was surprised—but you—you were not.” - -“I never dreamed of her being the thief,” I expostulated. - -“That—perhaps no. But I was watching your face and you were not—like -Inspector Raglan—startled and incredulous.” - -I thought for a minute or two. - -“Perhaps you are right,” I said at last. “All along I’ve felt that -Flora was keeping back something—so the truth, when it came, was -subconsciously expected. It upset Inspector Raglan very much indeed, -poor man.” - -“Ah! _pour ça, oui_! The poor man must rearrange all his ideas. I -profited by his state of mental chaos to induce him to grant me a -little favor.” - -“What was that?” - -Poirot took a sheet of notepaper from his pocket. Some words were -written on it, and he read them aloud. - -“The police have, for some days, been seeking for Captain Ralph Paton, -the nephew of Mr. Ackroyd of Fernly Park, whose death occurred under -such tragic circumstances last Friday. Captain Paton has been found at -Liverpool, where he was on the point of embarking for America.” - -He folded up the piece of paper again. - -“That, my friend, will be in the newspapers to-morrow morning.” - -I stared at him, dumbfounded. - -“But—but it isn’t true! He’s not at Liverpool!” - -Poirot beamed on me. - -“You have the intelligence so quick! No, he has not been found at -Liverpool. Inspector Raglan was very loath to let me send this -paragraph to the press, especially as I could not take him into my -confidence. But I assured him most solemnly that very interesting -results would follow its appearance in print, so he gave in, after -stipulating that he was, on no account, to bear the responsibility.” - -I stared at Poirot. He smiled back at me. - -“It beats me,” I said at last, “what you expect to get out of that.” - -“You should employ your little gray cells,” said Poirot gravely. - -He rose and came across to the bench. - -“It is that you have really the love of the machinery,” he said, after -inspecting the débris of my labors. - -Every man has his hobby. I immediately drew Poirot’s attention to my -home-made wireless. Finding him sympathetic, I showed him one or two -little inventions of my own—trifling things, but useful in the house. - -“Decidedly,” said Poirot, “you should be an inventor by trade, not a -doctor. But I hear the bell—that is your patient. Let us go into the -surgery.” - -Once before I had been struck by the remnants of beauty in the -housekeeper’s face. This morning I was struck anew. Very simply dressed -in black, tall, upright and independent as ever, with her big dark eyes -and an unwonted flush of color in her usually pale cheeks, I realized -that as a girl she must have been startlingly handsome. - -“Good-morning, mademoiselle,” said Poirot. “Will you be seated? Dr. -Sheppard is so kind as to permit me the use of his surgery for a little -conversation I am anxious to have with you.” - -Miss Russell sat down with her usual composure. If she felt any inward -agitation, it did not display itself in any outward manifestation. - -“It seems a queer way of doing things, if you’ll allow me to say so,” -she remarked. - -“Miss Russell—I have news to give you.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Charles Kent has been arrested at Liverpool.” - -Not a muscle of her face moved. She merely opened her eyes a trifle -wider, and asked, with a tinge of defiance: - -“Well, what of it?” - -But at that moment it came to me—the resemblance that had haunted me -all along, something familiar in the defiance of Charles Kent’s manner. -The two voices, one rough and coarse, the other painfully ladylike—were -strangely the same in timbre. It was of Miss Russell that I had been -reminded that night outside the gates of Fernly Park. - -I looked at Poirot, full of my discovery, and he gave me an -imperceptible nod. - -In answer to Miss Russell’s question, he threw out his hands in a -thoroughly French gesture. - -“I thought you might be interested, that is all,” he said mildly. - -“Well, I’m not particularly,” said Miss Russell. “Who is this Charles -Kent anyway?” - -“He is a man, mademoiselle, who was at Fernly on the night of the -murder.” - -“Really?” - -“Fortunately for him, he has an alibi. At a quarter to ten he was at a -public-house a mile from here.” - -“Lucky for him,” commented Miss Russell. - -“But we still do not know what he was doing at Fernly—who it was he -went to meet, for instance.” - -“I’m afraid I can’t help you at all,” said the housekeeper politely. -“Nothing came to _my_ ears. If that is all——” - -She made a tentative movement as though to rise. Poirot stopped her. - -“It is not quite all,” he said smoothly. “This morning fresh -developments have arisen. It seems now that Mr. Ackroyd was murdered, -not at a quarter to ten, but _before_. Between ten minutes to nine, -when Dr. Sheppard left, and a quarter to ten.” - -I saw the color drain from the housekeeper’s face, leaving it dead -white. She leaned forward, her figure swaying. - -“But Miss Ackroyd said—Miss Ackroyd said——” - -“Miss Ackroyd has admitted that she was lying. She was never in the -study at all that evening.” - -“Then——?” - -“Then it would seem that in this Charles Kent we have the man we are -looking for. He came to Fernly, can give no account of what he was -doing there——” - -“I can tell you what he was doing there. He never touched a hair of old -Ackroyd’s head—he never went near the study. He didn’t do it, I tell -you.” - -She was leaning forward. That iron self-control was broken through at -last. Terror and desperation were in her face. - -“M. Poirot! M. Poirot! Oh, do believe me.” - -Poirot got up and came to her. He patted her reassuringly on the -shoulder. - -“But yes—but yes, I will believe. I had to make you speak, you know.” - -For an instant suspicion flared up in her. - -“Is what you said true?” - -“That Charles Kent is suspected of the crime? Yes, that is true. You -alone can save him, by telling the reason for his being at Fernly.” - -“He came to see me.” She spoke in a low, hurried voice. “I went out to -meet him——” - -“In the summer-house, yes, I know.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Mademoiselle, it is the business of Hercule Poirot to know things. I -know that you went out earlier in the evening, that you left a message -in the summer-house to say what time you would be there.” - -“Yes, I did. I had heard from him—saying he was coming. I dared not -let him come to the house. I wrote to the address he gave me and said -I would meet him in the summer-house, and described it to him so that -he would be able to find it. Then I was afraid he might not wait there -patiently, and I ran out and left a piece of paper to say I would be -there about ten minutes past nine. I didn’t want the servants to see -me, so I slipped out through the drawing-room window. As I came back, I -met Dr. Sheppard, and I fancied that he would think it queer. I was out -of breath, for I had been running. I had no idea that he was expected -to dinner that night.” - -She paused. - -“Go on,” said Poirot. “You went out to meet him at ten minutes past -nine. What did you say to each other?” - -“It’s difficult. You see——” - -“Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, interrupting her, “in this matter I must -have the whole truth. What you tell us need never go beyond these four -walls. Dr. Sheppard will be discreet, and so shall I. See, I will help -you. This Charles Kent, he is your son, is he not?” - -She nodded. The color had flamed into her cheeks. - -“No one has ever known. It was long ago—long ago—down in Kent. I was -not married....” - -“So you took the name of the county as a surname for him. I understand.” - -“I got work. I managed to pay for his board and lodging. I never told -him that I was his mother. But he turned out badly, he drank, then took -to drugs. I managed to pay his passage out to Canada. I didn’t hear of -him for a year or two. Then, somehow or other, he found out that I was -his mother. He wrote asking me for money. Finally, I heard from him -back in this country again. He was coming to see me at Fernly, he said. -I dared not let him come to the house. I have always been considered -so—so very respectable. If any one got an inkling—it would have been -all up with my post as housekeeper. So I wrote to him in the way I have -just told you.” - -“And in the morning you came to see Dr. Sheppard?” - -“Yes. I wondered if something could be done. He was not a bad -boy—before he took to drugs.” - -“I see,” said Poirot. “Now let us go on with the story. He came that -night to the summer-house?” - -“Yes, he was waiting for me when I got there. He was very rough and -abusive. I had brought with me all the money I had, and I gave it to -him. We talked a little, and then he went away.” - -“What time was that?” - -“It must have been between twenty and twenty-five minutes past nine. It -was not yet half-past when I got back to the house.” - -“Which way did he go?” - -“Straight out the same way he came, by the path that joined the drive -just inside the lodge gates.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“And you, what did you do?” - -“I went back to the house. Major Blunt was walking up and down the -terrace smoking, so I made a detour to get round to the side door. It -was then just on half-past nine, as I tell you.” - -Poirot nodded again. He made a note or two in a microscopic pocket-book. - -“I think that is all,” he said thoughtfully. - -“Ought I——” she hesitated. “Ought I to tell all this to Inspector -Raglan?” - -“It may come to that. But let us not be in a hurry. Let us proceed -slowly, with due order and method. Charles Kent is not yet formally -charged with murder. Circumstances may arise which will render your -story unnecessary.” - -Miss Russell rose. - -“Thank you very much, M. Poirot,” she said. “You have been very -kind—very kind indeed. You—you do believe me, don’t you? That Charles -had nothing to do with this wicked murder!” - -“There seems no doubt that the man who was talking to Mr. Ackroyd in -the library at nine-thirty could not possibly have been your son. Be of -good courage, mademoiselle. All will yet be well.” - -Miss Russell departed. Poirot and I were left together. - -“So that’s that,” I said. “Every time we come back to Ralph Paton. How -did you manage to spot Miss Russell as the person Charles Kent came to -meet? Did you notice the resemblance?” - -“I had connected her with the unknown man long before we actually -came face to face with him. As soon as we found that quill. The quill -suggested dope, and I remembered your account of Miss Russell’s visit -to you. Then I found the article on cocaine in that morning’s paper. It -all seemed very clear. She had heard from some one that morning—some -one addicted to drugs, she read the article in the paper, and she came -to you to ask a few tentative questions. She mentioned cocaine, since -the article in question was on cocaine. Then, when you seemed too -interested, she switched hurriedly to the subject of detective stories -and untraceable poisons. I suspected a son or a brother, or some other -undesirable male relation. Ah! but I must go. It is the time of the -lunch.” - -“Stay and lunch with us,” I suggested. - -Poirot shook his head. A faint twinkle came into his eye. - -“Not again to-day. I should not like to force Mademoiselle Caroline to -adopt a vegetarian diet two days in succession.” - -It occurred to me that there was not much which escaped Hercule Poirot. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - THE PARAGRAPH IN THE PAPER - - -Caroline, of course, had not failed to see Miss Russell come -to the surgery door. I had anticipated this, and had ready an -elaborate account of the lady’s bad knee. But Caroline was not in a -cross-questioning mood. Her point of view was that she knew what Miss -Russell had really come for and that _I_ didn’t. - -“Pumping you, James,” said Caroline. “Pumping you in the most shameless -manner, I’ve not a doubt. It’s no good interrupting. I dare say you -hadn’t the least idea she was doing it even. Men _are_ so simple. She -knows that you are in M. Poirot’s confidence, and she wants to find out -things. Do you know what I think, James?” - -“I couldn’t begin to imagine. You think so many extraordinary things.” - -“It’s no good being sarcastic. I think Miss Russell knows more about -Mr. Ackroyd’s death than she is prepared to admit.” - -Caroline leaned back triumphantly in her chair. - -“Do you really think so?” I said absently. - -“You are very dull to-day, James. No animation about you. It’s that -liver of yours.” - -Our conversation then dealt with purely personal matters. - -The paragraph inspired by Poirot duly appeared in our daily paper the -next morning. I was in the dark as to its purpose, but its effect on -Caroline was immense. - -She began by stating, most untruly, that she had said as much all -along. I raised my eyebrows, but did not argue. Caroline, however, must -have felt a prick of conscience, for she went on:— - -“I mayn’t have actually mentioned Liverpool, but I knew he’d try to get -away to America. That’s what Crippen did.” - -“Without much success,” I reminded her. - -“Poor boy, and so they’ve caught him. I consider, James, that it’s your -duty to see that he isn’t hung.” - -“What do you expect me to do?” - -“Why, you’re a medical man, aren’t you? You’ve known him from a boy -upwards. Not mentally responsible. That’s the line to take, clearly. I -read only the other day that they’re very happy in Broadmoor—it’s quite -like a high-class club.” - -But Caroline’s words had reminded me of something. - -“I never knew that Poirot had an imbecile nephew?” I said curiously. - -“Didn’t you? Oh, he told me all about it. Poor lad. It’s a great grief -to all the family. They’ve kept him at home so far, but it’s getting -to such a pitch that they’re afraid he’ll have to go into some kind of -institution.” - -“I suppose you know pretty well everything there is to know about -Poirot’s family by this time,” I said, exasperated. - -“Pretty well,” said Caroline complacently. “It’s a great relief to -people to be able to tell all their troubles to some one.” - -“It might be,” I said, “if they were ever allowed to do so -spontaneously. Whether they enjoy having confidences screwed out of -them by force is another matter.” - -Caroline merely looked at me with the air of a Christian martyr -enjoying martyrdom. - -“You are so self-contained, James,” she said. “You hate speaking out, -or parting with any information yourself, and you think everybody else -must be just like you. I should hope that I never screw confidences out -of anybody. For instance, if M. Poirot comes in this afternoon, as he -said he might do, I shall not dream of asking him who it was arrived at -his house early this morning.” - -“Early this morning?” I queried. - -“Very early,” said Caroline. “Before the milk came. I just happened -to be looking out of the window—the blind was flapping. It was a man. -He came in a closed car, and he was all muffled up. I couldn’t get a -glimpse of his face. But I will tell you _my_ idea, and you’ll see that -I’m right.” - -“What’s your idea?” - -Caroline dropped her voice mysteriously. - -“A Home Office expert,” she breathed. - -“A Home Office expert,” I said, amazed. “My dear Caroline!” - -“Mark my words, James, you’ll see that I’m right. That Russell woman -was here that morning after your poisons. Roger Ackroyd might easily -have been poisoned in his food that night.” - -I laughed out loud. - -“Nonsense,” I cried. “He was stabbed in the neck. You know that as well -as I do.” - -“After death, James,” said Caroline; “to make a false clew.” - -“My good woman,” I said, “I examined the body, and I know what I’m -talking about. That wound wasn’t inflicted after death—it was the cause -of death, and you need make no mistake about it.” - -Caroline merely continued to look omniscient, which so annoyed me that -I went on:— - -“Perhaps you will tell me, Caroline, if I have a medical degree or if I -have not?” - -“You have the medical degree, I dare say, James—at least, I mean I know -you have. But you’ve no imagination whatever.” - -“Having endowed you with a treble portion, there was none left over for -me,” I said dryly. - -I was amused to notice Caroline’s maneuvers that afternoon when Poirot -duly arrived. My sister, without asking a direct question, skirted the -subject of the mysterious guest in every way imaginable. By the twinkle -in Poirot’s eyes, I saw that he realized her object. He remained -blandly impervious, and blocked her bowling so successfully that she -herself was at a loss how to proceed. - -Having, I suspect, quietly enjoyed the little game, he rose to his feet -and suggested a walk. - -“It is that I need to reduce the figure a little,” he explained. “You -will come with me, doctor? And perhaps later Miss Caroline will give us -some tea.” - -“Delighted,” said Caroline. “Won’t your—er—guest come in also?” - -“You are too kind,” said Poirot. “But no, my friend reposes himself. -Soon you must make his acquaintance.” - -“Quite an old friend of yours, so somebody told me,” said Caroline, -making one last valiant effort. - -“Did they?” murmured Poirot. “Well, we must start.” - -Our tramp took us in the direction of Fernly. I had guessed beforehand -that it might do so. I was beginning to understand Poirot’s methods. -Every little irrelevancy had a bearing upon the whole. - -“I have a commission for you, my friend,” he said at last. “To-night, -at my house, I desire to have a little conference. You will attend, -will you not?” - -“Certainly,” I said. - -“Good. I need also all those in the house—that is to say: Mrs. Ackroyd, -Mademoiselle Flora, Major Blunt, M. Raymond. I want you to be my -ambassador. This little reunion is fixed for nine o’clock. You will ask -them—yes?” - -“With pleasure; but why not ask them yourself?” - -“Because they will then put the questions: Why? What for? They will -demand what my idea is. And, as you know, my friend, I much dislike to -have to explain my little ideas until the time comes.” - -I smiled a little. - -“My friend Hastings, he of whom I told you, used to say of me that I -was the human oyster. But he was unjust. Of facts, I keep nothing to -myself. But to every one his own interpretation of them.” - -“When do you want me to do this?” - -“Now, if you will. We are close to the house.” - -“Aren’t you coming in?” - -“No, me, I will promenade myself in the grounds. I will rejoin you by -the lodge gates in a quarter of an hour’s time.” - -I nodded, and set off on my task. The only member of the family at home -proved to be Mrs. Ackroyd, who was sipping an early cup of tea. She -received me very graciously. - -“So grateful to you, doctor,” she murmured, “for clearing up that -little matter with M. Poirot. But life is one trouble after another. -You have heard about Flora, of course?” - -“What exactly?” I asked cautiously. - -“This new engagement. Flora and Hector Blunt. Of course not such a good -match as Ralph would have been. But after all, happiness comes first. -What dear Flora needs is an older man—some one steady and reliable, and -then Hector is really a very distinguished man in his way. You saw the -news of Ralph’s arrest in the paper this morning?” - -“Yes,” I said, “I did.” - -“Horrible.” Mrs. Ackroyd closed her eyes and shuddered. “Geoffrey -Raymond was in a terrible way. Rang up Liverpool. But they wouldn’t -tell him anything at the police station there. In fact, they said -they hadn’t arrested Ralph at all. Mr. Raymond insists that it’s all -a mistake—a—what do they call it?—_canard_ of the newspaper’s. I’ve -forbidden it to be mentioned before the servants. Such a terrible -disgrace. Fancy if Flora had actually been married to him.” - -Mrs. Ackroyd shut her eyes in anguish. I began to wonder how soon I -should be able to deliver Poirot’s invitation. - -Before I had time to speak, Mrs. Ackroyd was off again. - -“You were here yesterday, weren’t you, with that dreadful Inspector -Raglan? Brute of a man—he terrified Flora into saying she took that -money from poor Roger’s room. And the matter was so simple, really. The -dear child wanted to borrow a few pounds, didn’t like to disturb her -uncle since he’d given strict orders against it, but knowing where he -kept his notes she went there and took what she needed.” - -“Is that Flora’s account of the matter?” I asked. - -“My dear doctor, you know what girls are nowadays. So easily acted on -by suggestion. You, of course, know all about hypnosis and that sort of -thing. The inspector shouts at her, says the word ‘steal’ over and over -again, until the poor child gets an inhibition—or is it a complex?—I -always mix up those two words—and actually thinks herself that she has -stolen the money. I saw at once how it was. But I can’t be too thankful -for the whole misunderstanding in one way—it seems to have brought -those two together—Hector and Flora, I mean. And I assure you that I -have been very much worried about Flora in the past: why, at one time -I actually thought there was going to be some kind of understanding -between her and young Raymond. Just think of it!” Mrs. Ackroyd’s voice -rose in shrill horror. “A private secretary—with practically no means -of his own.” - -“It would have been a severe blow to you,” I said. “Now, Mrs. Ackroyd, -I’ve got a message for you from M. Hercule Poirot.” - -“For me?” - -Mrs. Ackroyd looked quite alarmed. - -I hastened to reassure her, and I explained what Poirot wanted. - -“Certainly,” said Mrs. Ackroyd rather doubtfully, “I suppose we must -come if M. Poirot says so. But what is it all about? I like to know -beforehand.” - -I assured the lady truthfully that I myself did not know any more than -she did. - -“Very well,” said Mrs. Ackroyd at last, rather grudgingly, “I will tell -the others, and we will be there at nine o’clock.” - -Thereupon I took my leave, and joined Poirot at the agreed -meeting-place. - -“I’ve been longer than a quarter of an hour, I’m afraid,” I remarked. -“But once that good lady starts talking it’s a matter of the utmost -difficulty to get a word in edgeways.” - -“It is of no matter,” said Poirot. “Me, I have been well amused. This -park is magnificent.” - -We set off homewards. When we arrived, to our great surprise Caroline, -who had evidently been watching for us, herself opened the door. - -She put her fingers to her lips. Her face was full of importance and -excitement. - -“Ursula Bourne,” she said, “the parlormaid from Fernly. She’s here! -I’ve put her in the dining-room. She’s in a terrible way, poor thing. -Says she must see M. Poirot at once. I’ve done all I could. Taken her a -cup of hot tea. It really goes to one’s heart to see any one in such a -state.” - -“In the dining-room?” asked Poirot. - -“This way,” I said, and flung open the door. - -Ursula Bourne was sitting by the table. Her arms were spread out in -front of her, and she had evidently just lifted her head from where it -had been buried. Her eyes were red with weeping. - -“Ursula Bourne,” I murmured. - -But Poirot went past me with outstretched hands. - -“No,” he said, “that is not quite right, I think. It is not Ursula -Bourne, is it, my child—but Ursula Paton? Mrs. Ralph Paton.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - URSULA’S STORY - - -For a moment or two the girl looked mutely at Poirot. Then, her reserve -breaking down completely, she nodded her head once, and burst into an -outburst of sobs. - -Caroline pushed past me, and putting her arm round the girl, patted her -on the shoulder. - -“There, there, my dear,” she said soothingly, “it will be all right. -You’ll see—everything will be all right.” - -Buried under curiosity and scandal-mongering there is a lot of kindness -in Caroline. For the moment, even the interest of Poirot’s revelation -was lost in the sight of the girl’s distress. - -Presently Ursula sat up and wiped her eyes. - -“This is very weak and silly of me,” she said. - -“No, no, my child,” said Poirot kindly. “We can all realize the strain -of this last week.” - -“It must have been a terrible ordeal,” I said. - -“And then to find that you knew,” continued Ursula. “How did you know? -Was it Ralph who told you?” - -Poirot shook his head. - -“You know what brought me to you to-night,” went on the girl. “_This_——” - -She held out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and I recognized the -paragraph that Poirot had had inserted. - -“It says that Ralph has been arrested. So everything is useless. I need -not pretend any longer.” - -“Newspaper paragraphs are not always true, mademoiselle,” murmured -Poirot, having the grace to look ashamed of himself. “All the same, I -think you will do well to make a clean breast of things. The truth is -what we need now.” - -The girl hesitated, looking at him doubtfully. - -“You do not trust me,” said Poirot gently. “Yet all the same you came -here to find me, did you not? Why was that?” - -“Because I don’t believe that Ralph did it,” said the girl in a very -low voice. “And I think that you are clever, and will find out the -truth. And also——” - -“Yes?” - -“I think you are kind.” - -Poirot nodded his head several times. - -“It is very good that—yes, it is very good. Listen, I do in verity -believe that this husband of yours is innocent—but the affair marches -badly. If I am to save him, I must know all there is to know—even if it -should seem to make the case against him blacker than before.” - -“How well you understand,” said Ursula. - -“So you will tell me the whole story, will you not? From the beginning.” - -“You’re not going to send _me_ away, I hope,” said Caroline, settling -herself comfortably in an arm-chair. “What I want to know,” she -continued, “is why this child was masquerading as a parlormaid?” - -“Masquerading?” I queried. - -“That’s what I said. Why did you do it, child? For a wager?” - -“For a living,” said Ursula dryly. - -And encouraged, she began the story which I reproduce here in my own -words. - -Ursula Bourne, it seemed, was one of a family of seven—impoverished -Irish gentlefolk. On the death of her father, most of the girls were -cast out into the world to earn their own living. Ursula’s eldest -sister was married to Captain Folliott. It was she whom I had seen -that Sunday, and the cause of her embarrassment was clear enough now. -Determined to earn her living and not attracted to the idea of being a -nursery governess—the one profession open to an untrained girl, Ursula -preferred the job of parlormaid. She scorned to label herself a “lady -parlormaid.” She would be the real thing, her reference being supplied -by her sister. At Fernly, despite an aloofness which, as has been seen, -caused some comment, she was a success at her job—quick, competent, and -thorough. - -“I enjoyed the work,” she explained. “And I had plenty of time to -myself.” - -And then came her meeting with Ralph Paton, and the love affair which -culminated in a secret marriage. Ralph had persuaded her into that, -somewhat against her will. He had declared that his stepfather would -not hear of his marrying a penniless girl. Better to be married -secretly, and break the news to him at some later and more favorable -minute. - -And so the deed was done, and Ursula Bourne became Ursula Paton. -Ralph had declared that he meant to pay off his debts, find a job, and -then, when he was in a position to support her, and independent of his -adopted father, they would break the news to him. - -But to people like Ralph Paton, turning over a new leaf is easier in -theory than in practice. He hoped that his stepfather, whilst still -in ignorance of the marriage, might be persuaded to pay his debts and -put him on his feet again. But the revelation of the amount of Ralph’s -liabilities merely enraged Roger Ackroyd, and he refused to do anything -at all. Some months passed, and then Ralph was bidden once more to -Fernly. Roger Ackroyd did not beat about the bush. It was the desire of -his heart that Ralph should marry Flora, and he put the matter plainly -before the young man. - -And here it was that the innate weakness of Ralph Paton showed itself. -As always, he grasped at the easy, the immediate solution. As far -as I could make out, neither Flora nor Ralph made any pretence of -love. It was, on both sides, a business arrangement. Roger Ackroyd -dictated his wishes—they agreed to them. Flora accepted a chance of -liberty, money, and an enlarged horizon, Ralph, of course, was playing -a different game. But he was in a very awkward hole financially. He -seized at the chance. His debts would be paid. He could start again -with a clean sheet. His was not a nature to envisage the future, but -I gather that he saw vaguely the engagement with Flora being broken -off after a decent interval had elapsed. Both Flora and he stipulated -that it should be kept a secret for the present. He was anxious to -conceal it from Ursula. He felt instinctively that her nature, strong -and resolute, with an inherent distaste for duplicity, was not one to -welcome such a course. - -Then came the crucial moment when Roger Ackroyd, always high-handed, -decided to announce the engagement. He said no word of his intention -to Ralph—only to Flora, and Flora, apathetic, raised no objection. On -Ursula, the news fell like a bombshell. Summoned by her, Ralph came -hurriedly down from town. They met in the wood, where part of their -conversation was overheard by my sister. Ralph implored her to keep -silent for a little while longer, Ursula was equally determined to have -done with concealments. She would tell Mr. Ackroyd the truth without -any further delay. Husband and wife parted acrimoniously. - -Ursula, steadfast in her purpose, sought an interview with Roger -Ackroyd that very afternoon, and revealed the truth to him. Their -interview was a stormy one—it might have been even more stormy had not -Roger Ackroyd been already obsessed with his own troubles. It was bad -enough, however. Ackroyd was not the kind of man to forgive the deceit -that had been practiced upon him. His rancor was mainly directed to -Ralph, but Ursula came in for her share, since he regarded her as a -girl who had deliberately tried to “entrap” the adopted son of a very -wealthy man. Unforgivable things were said on both sides. - -That same evening Ursula met Ralph by appointment in the small -summer-house, stealing out from the house by the side door in order to -do so. Their interview was made up of reproaches on both sides. Ralph -charged Ursula with having irretrievably ruined his prospects by her -ill-timed revelation. Ursula reproached Ralph with his duplicity. - -They parted at last. A little over half an hour later came the -discovery of Roger Ackroyd’s body. Since that night Ursula had neither -seen nor heard from Ralph. - -As the story unfolded itself, I realized more and more what a damning -series of facts it was. Alive, Ackroyd could hardly have failed to -alter his will—I knew him well enough to realize that to do so would -be his first thought. His death came in the nick of time for Ralph and -Ursula Paton. Small wonder the girl had held her tongue, and played her -part so consistently. - -My meditations were interrupted. It was Poirot’s voice speaking, and I -knew from the gravity of his tone that he, too, was fully alive to the -implications of the position. - -“Mademoiselle, I must ask you one question, and you must answer it -truthfully, for on it everything may hang: What time was it when you -parted from Captain Ralph Paton in the summer-house? Now, take a little -minute so that your answer may be very exact.” - -The girl gave a half laugh, bitter enough in all conscience. - -“Do you think I haven’t gone over that again and again in my own mind? -It was just half-past nine when I went out to meet him. Major Blunt -was walking up and down the terrace, so I had to go round through the -bushes to avoid him. It must have been about twenty-seven minutes to -ten when I reached the summer-house. Ralph was waiting for me. I was -with him ten minutes—not longer, for it was just a quarter to ten when -I got back to the house.” - -I saw now the insistence of her question the other day. If only Ackroyd -could have been proved to have been killed before a quarter to ten, and -not after. - -I saw the reflection of that thought in Poirot’s next question. - -“Who left the summer-house first?” - -“I did.” - -“Leaving Ralph Paton in the summer-house?” - -“Yes—but you don’t think——” - -“Mademoiselle, it is of no importance what I think. What did you do -when you got back to the house?” - -“I went up to my room.” - -“And stayed there until when?” - -“Until about ten o’clock.” - -“Is there any one who can prove that?” - -“Prove? That I was in my room, you mean? Oh! no. But surely—oh! I see, -they might think—they might think——” - -I saw the dawning horror in her eyes. - -Poirot finished the sentence for her. - -“That it was _you_ who entered by the window and stabbed Mr. Ackroyd as -he sat in his chair? Yes, they might think just that.” - -“Nobody but a fool would think any such thing,” said Caroline -indignantly. - -She patted Ursula on the shoulder. - -The girl had her face hidden in her hands. - -“Horrible,” she was murmuring. “Horrible.” - -Caroline gave her a friendly shake. - -“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “M. Poirot doesn’t think that really. -As for that husband of yours, I don’t think much of him, and I tell you -so candidly. Running away and leaving you to face the music.” - -But Ursula shook her head energetically. - -“Oh, no,” she cried. “It wasn’t like that at all. Ralph would not run -away on his own account. I see now. If he heard of his stepfather’s -murder, he might think himself that I had done it.” - -“He wouldn’t think any such thing,” said Caroline. - -“I was so cruel to him that night—so hard and bitter. I wouldn’t listen -to what he was trying to say—wouldn’t believe that he really cared. -I just stood there telling him what I thought of him, and saying the -coldest, cruelest things that came into my mind—trying my best to hurt -him.” - -“Do him no harm,” said Caroline. “Never worry about what you say to a -man. They’re so conceited that they never believe you mean it if it’s -unflattering.” - -Ursula went on, nervously twisting and untwisting her hands. - -“When the murder was discovered and he didn’t come forward, I was -terribly upset. Just for a moment I wondered—but then I knew he -couldn’t—he couldn’t.... But I wished he would come forward and say -openly that he’d had nothing to do with it. I knew that he was very -fond of Dr. Sheppard, and I fancied that perhaps Dr. Sheppard might -know where he was hiding.” - -She turned to me. - -“That’s why I said what I did to you that day. I thought, if you knew -where he was, you might pass on the message to him.” - -“I?” I exclaimed. - -“Why should James know where he was?” demanded Caroline sharply. - -“It was very unlikely, I know,” admitted Ursula, “but Ralph had often -spoken of Dr. Sheppard, and I knew that he would be likely to consider -him as his best friend in King’s Abbot.” - -“My dear child,” I said, “I have not the least idea where Ralph Paton -is at the present moment.” - -“That is true enough,” said Poirot. - -“But——” Ursula held out the newspaper cutting in a puzzled fashion. - -“Ah! that,” said Poirot, slightly embarrassed; “a _bagatelle_, -mademoiselle. A _rien du tout_. Not for a moment do I believe that -Ralph Paton has been arrested.” - -“But then——” began the girl slowly. - -Poirot went on quickly:— - -“There is one thing I should like to know—did Captain Paton wear shoes -or boots that night?” - -Ursula shook her head. - -“I can’t remember.” - -“A pity! But how should you? Now, madame,” he smiled at her, his head -on one side, his forefinger wagging eloquently, “no questions. And -do not torment yourself. Be of good courage, and place your faith in -Hercule Poirot.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - POIROT’S LITTLE REUNION - - -“And now,” said Caroline, rising, “that child is coming upstairs to lie -down. Don’t you worry, my dear. M. Poirot will do everything he can for -you—be sure of that.” - -“I ought to go back to Fernly,” said Ursula uncertainly. - -But Caroline silenced her protests with a firm hand. - -“Nonsense. You’re in my hands for the time being. You’ll stay here for -the present, anyway—eh, M. Poirot?” - -“It will be the best plan,” agreed the little Belgian. “This evening I -shall want mademoiselle—I beg her pardon, madame—to attend my little -reunion. Nine o’clock at my house. It is most necessary that she should -be there.” - -Caroline nodded, and went with Ursula out of the room. The door shut -behind them. Poirot dropped down into a chair again. - -“So far, so good,” he said. “Things are straightening themselves out.” - -“They’re getting to look blacker and blacker against Ralph Paton,” I -observed gloomily. - -Poirot nodded. - -“Yes, that is so. But it was to be expected, was it not?” - -I looked at him, slightly puzzled by the remark. He was leaning back in -the chair, his eyes half closed, the tips of his fingers just touching -each other. Suddenly he sighed and shook his head. - -“What is it?” I asked. - -“It is that there are moments when a great longing for my friend -Hastings comes over me. That is the friend of whom I spoke to you—the -one who resides now in the Argentine. Always, when I have had a big -case, he has been by my side. And he has helped me—yes, often he has -helped me. For he had a knack, that one, of stumbling over the truth -unawares—without noticing it himself, _bien entendu_. At times he has -said something particularly foolish, and behold that foolish remark has -revealed the truth to me! And then, too, it was his practice to keep a -written record of the cases that proved interesting.” - -I gave a slight embarrassed cough. - -“As far as that goes,” I began, and then stopped. - -Poirot sat upright in his chair. His eyes sparkled. - -“But yes? What is it that you would say?” - -“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve read some of Captain Hastings’s -narratives, and I thought, why not try my hand at something of the same -kind? Seemed a pity not to—unique opportunity—probably the only time -I’ll be mixed up with anything of this kind.” - -I felt myself getting hotter and hotter, and more and more incoherent, -as I floundered through the above speech. - -Poirot sprang from his chair. I had a moment’s terror that he was going -to embrace me French fashion, but mercifully he refrained. - -“But this is magnificent—you have then written down your impressions of -the case as you went along?” - -I nodded. - -“_Epatant!_” cried Poirot. “Let me see them—this instant.” - -I was not quite prepared for such a sudden demand. I racked my brains -to remember certain details. - -“I hope you won’t mind,” I stammered. “I may have been a -little—er—_personal_ now and then.” - -“Oh! I comprehend perfectly; you have referred to me as comic—as, -perhaps, ridiculous now and then? It matters not at all. Hastings, -he also was not always polite. Me, I have the mind above such -trivialities.” - -Still somewhat doubtful, I rummaged in the drawers of my desk and -produced an untidy pile of manuscript which I handed over to him. With -an eye on possible publication in the future, I had divided the work -into chapters, and the night before I had brought it up to date with an -account of Miss Russell’s visit. Poirot had therefore twenty chapters. - -I left him with them. - -I was obliged to go out to a case at some distance away, and it was -past eight o’clock when I got back, to be greeted with a plate of hot -dinner on a tray, and the announcement that Poirot and my sister had -supped together at half-past seven, and that the former had then gone -to my workshop to finish his reading of the manuscript. - -“I hope, James,” said my sister, “that you’ve been careful in what you -say about me in it?” - -My jaw dropped. I had not been careful at all. - -“Not that it matters very much,” said Caroline, reading my expression -correctly. “M. Poirot will know what to think. He understands me much -better than you do.” - -I went into the workshop. Poirot was sitting by the window. The -manuscript lay neatly piled on a chair beside him. He laid his hand on -it and spoke. - -“_Eh bien_,” he said, “I congratulate you—on your modesty!” - -“Oh!” I said, rather taken aback. - -“And on your reticence,” he added. - -I said “Oh!” again. - -“Not so did Hastings write,” continued my friend. “On every page, -many, many times was the word ‘I.’ What _he_ thought—what _he_ did. -But you—you have kept your personality in the background; only once or -twice does it obtrude—in scenes of home life, shall we say?” - -I blushed a little before the twinkle in his eye. - -“What do you really think of the stuff?” I asked nervously. - -“You want my candid opinion?” - -“Yes.” - -Poirot laid his jesting manner aside. - -“A very meticulous and accurate account,” he said kindly. “You have -recorded all the facts faithfully and exactly—though you have shown -yourself becomingly reticent as to your own share in them.” - -“And it has helped you?” - -“Yes. I may say that it has helped me considerably. Come, we must go -over to my house and set the stage for my little performance.” - -Caroline was in the hall. I think she hoped that she might be invited -to accompany us. Poirot dealt with the situation tactfully. - -“I should much like to have had you present, mademoiselle,” he said -regretfully, “but at this juncture it would not be wise. See you, all -these people to-night are suspects. Amongst them, I shall find the -person who killed Mr. Ackroyd.” - -“You really believe that?” I said incredulously. - -“I see that you do not,” said Poirot dryly. “Not yet do you appreciate -Hercule Poirot at his true worth.” - -At that minute Ursula came down the staircase. - -“You are ready, my child?” said Poirot. “That is good. We will go to -my house together. Mademoiselle Caroline, believe me, I do everything -possible to render you service. Good-evening.” - -We went out, leaving Caroline, rather like a dog who has been refused a -walk, standing on the front door step gazing after us. - -The sitting-room at The Larches had been got ready. On the table were -various _sirops_ and glasses. Also a plate of biscuits. Several chairs -had been brought in from the other room. - -Poirot ran to and fro rearranging things. Pulling out a chair here, -altering the position of a lamp there, occasionally stooping to -straighten one of the mats that covered the floor. He was specially -fussy over the lighting. The lamps were arranged in such a way as to -throw a clear light on the side of the room where the chairs were -grouped, at the same time leaving the other end of the room, where I -presumed Poirot himself would sit, in a dim twilight. - -Ursula and I watched him. Presently a bell was heard. - -“They arrive,” said Poirot. “Good, all is in readiness.” - -The door opened and the party from Fernly filed in. Poirot went forward -and greeted Mrs. Ackroyd and Flora. - -“It is most good of you to come,” he said. “And Major Blunt and Mr. -Raymond.” - -The secretary was debonair as ever. - -“What’s the great idea?” he said, laughing. “Some scientific machine? -Do we have bands round our wrists which register guilty heart-beats? -There is such an invention, isn’t there?” - -“I have read of it, yes,” admitted Poirot. “But me, I am old-fashioned. -I use the old methods. I work only with the little gray cells. Now let -us begin—but first I have an announcement to make to you all.” - -He took Ursula’s hand and drew her forward. - -“This lady is Mrs. Ralph Paton. She was married to Captain Paton last -March.” - -A little shriek burst from Mrs. Ackroyd. - -“Ralph! Married! Last March! Oh! but it’s absurd. How could he be?” - -She stared at Ursula as though she had never seen her before. - -“Married to Bourne?” she said. “Really, M. Poirot, I don’t believe you.” - -Ursula flushed and began to speak, but Flora forestalled her. - -Going quickly to the other girl’s side, she passed her hand through her -arm. - -“You must not mind our being surprised,” she said. “You see, we had no -idea of such a thing. You and Ralph have kept your secret very well. I -am—very glad about it.” - -“You are very kind, Miss Ackroyd,” said Ursula in a low voice, “and -you have every right to be exceedingly angry. Ralph behaved very -badly—especially to you.” - -“You needn’t worry about that,” said Flora, giving her arm a consoling -little pat. “Ralph was in a corner and took the only way out. I should -probably have done the same in his place. I do think he might have -trusted me with the secret, though. I wouldn’t have let him down.” - -Poirot rapped gently on a table and cleared his throat significantly. - -“The board meeting’s going to begin,” said Flora. “M. Poirot hints that -we mustn’t talk. But just tell me one thing. Where is Ralph? You must -know if any one does.” - -“But I don’t,” cried Ursula, almost in a wail. “That’s just it, I -don’t.” - -“Isn’t he detained at Liverpool?” asked Raymond. “It said so in the -paper.” - -“He is not at Liverpool,” said Poirot shortly. - -“In fact,” I remarked, “no one knows where he is.” - -“Excepting Hercule Poirot, eh?” said Raymond. - -Poirot replied seriously to the other’s banter. - -“Me, I know everything. Remember that.” - -Geoffrey Raymond lifted his eyebrows. - -“Everything?” He whistled. “Whew! that’s a tall order.” - -“Do you mean to say you can really guess where Ralph Paton is hiding?” -I asked incredulously. - -“You call it guessing. I call it knowing, my friend.” - -“In Cranchester?” I hazarded. - -“No,” replied Poirot gravely, “not in Cranchester.” - -He said no more, but at a gesture from him the assembled party took -their seats. As they did so, the door opened once more and two other -people came in and sat down near the door. They were Parker and the -housekeeper. - -“The number is complete,” said Poirot. “Every one is here.” - -There was a ring of satisfaction in his tone. And with the sound of it -I saw a ripple of something like uneasiness pass over all those faces -grouped at the other end of the room. There was a suggestion in all -this as of a trap—a trap that had closed. - -Poirot read from a list in an important manner. - -“Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora Ackroyd, Major Blunt, Mr. Geoffrey Raymond, -Mrs. Ralph Paton, John Parker, Elizabeth Russell.” - -He laid the paper down on the table. - -“What’s the meaning of all this?” began Raymond. - -“The list I have just read,” said Poirot, “is a list of suspected -persons. Every one of you present had the opportunity to kill Mr. -Ackroyd——” - -With a cry Mrs. Ackroyd sprang up, her throat working. - -“I don’t like it,” she wailed. “I don’t like it. I would much prefer to -go home.” - -“You cannot go home, madame,” said Poirot sternly, “until you have -heard what I have to say.” - -He paused a moment, then cleared his throat. - -“I will start at the beginning. When Miss Ackroyd asked me to -investigate the case, I went up to Fernly Park with the good Dr. -Sheppard. I walked with him along the terrace, where I was shown the -footprints on the window-sill. From there Inspector Raglan took me -along the path which leads to the drive. My eye was caught by a little -summer-house, and I searched it thoroughly. I found two things—a scrap -of starched cambric and an empty goose quill. The scrap of cambric -immediately suggested to me a maid’s apron. When Inspector Raglan -showed me his list of the people in the house, I noticed at once that -one of the maids—Ursula Bourne, the parlormaid—had no real alibi. -According to her own story, she was in her bedroom from nine-thirty -until ten. But supposing that instead she was in the summer-house? -If so, she must have gone there to meet some one. Now we know from -Dr. Sheppard that some one from outside _did_ come to the house that -night—the stranger whom he met just by the gate. At a first glance it -would seem that our problem was solved, and that the stranger went to -the summer-house to meet Ursula Bourne. It was fairly certain that he -_did_ go to the summer-house because of the goose quill. That suggested -at once to my mind a taker of drugs—and one who had acquired the habit -on the other side of the Atlantic where sniffing ‘snow’ is more common -than in this country. The man whom Dr. Sheppard met had an American -accent, which fitted in with that supposition. - -“But I was held up by one point. _The times did not fit._ Ursula -Bourne could certainly not have gone to the summer-house before -nine-thirty, whereas the man must have got there by a few minutes -past nine. I could, of course, assume that he waited there for half -an hour. The only alternative supposition was that there had been two -separate meetings in the summer-house that night. _Eh bien_, as soon -as I went into that alternative I found several significant facts. I -discovered that Miss Russell, the housekeeper, had visited Dr. Sheppard -that morning, and had displayed a good deal of interest in cures for -victims of the drug habit. Taking that in conjunction with the goose -quill, I assumed that the man in question came to Fernly to meet the -housekeeper, and not Ursula Bourne. Who, then, did Ursula Bourne come -to the rendezvous to meet? I was not long in doubt. First I found a -ring—a wedding ring—with ‘From R.’ and a date inside it. Then I learnt -that Ralph Paton had been seen coming up the path which led to the -summer-house at twenty-five minutes past nine, and I also heard of -a certain conversation which had taken place in the wood near the -village that very afternoon—a conversation between Ralph Paton and -some unknown girl. So I had my facts succeeding each other in a neat -and orderly manner. A secret marriage, an engagement announced on the -day of the tragedy, the stormy interview in the wood, and the meeting -arranged for the summer-house that night. - -“Incidentally this proved to me one thing, that both Ralph Paton and -Ursula Bourne (or Paton) had the strongest motives for wishing Mr. -Ackroyd out of the way. And it also made one other point unexpectedly -clear. It could not have been Ralph Paton who was with Mr. Ackroyd in -the study at nine-thirty. - -“So we come to another and most interesting aspect of the crime. Who -was it in the room with Mr. Ackroyd at nine-thirty? Not Ralph Paton, -who was in the summer-house with his wife. Not Charles Kent, who -had already left. Who, then? I posed my cleverest—my most audacious -question: _Was any one with him?_” - -Poirot leaned forward and shot the last words triumphantly at us, -drawing back afterwards with the air of one who has made a decided hit. - -Raymond, however, did not seem impressed, and lodged a mild protest. - -“I don’t know if you’re trying to make me out a liar, M. Poirot, but -the matter does not rest on my evidence alone—except perhaps as to the -exact words used. Remember, Major Blunt also heard Mr. Ackroyd talking -to some one. He was on the terrace outside, and couldn’t catch the -words clearly, but he distinctly heard the voices.” - -Poirot nodded. - -“I have not forgotten,” he said quietly. “But Major Blunt was under the -impression that it was _you_ to whom Mr. Ackroyd was speaking.” - -For a moment Raymond seemed taken aback. Then he recovered himself. - -“Blunt knows now that he was mistaken,” he said. - -“Exactly,” agreed the other man. - -“Yet there must have been some reason for his thinking so,” mused -Poirot. “Oh! no,” he held up his hand in protest, “I know the reason -you will give—but it is not enough. We must seek elsewhere. I will put -it this way. From the beginning of the case I have been struck by one -thing—the nature of those words which Mr. Raymond overheard. It has -been amazing to me that no one has commented on them—has seen anything -odd about them.” - -He paused a minute, and then quoted softly:— - -“... _The calls on my purse have been so frequent of late that I fear -it is impossible for me to accede to your request._ Does nothing strike -you as odd about that?” - -“I don’t think so,” said Raymond. “He has frequently dictated letters -to me, using almost exactly those same words.” - -“Exactly,” cried Poirot. “That is what I seek to arrive at. Would any -man use such a phrase in _talking_ to another? Impossible that that -should be part of a real conversation. Now, if he had been dictating a -letter——” - -“You mean he was reading a letter aloud,” said Raymond slowly. “Even -so, he must have been reading to some one.” - -“But why? We have no evidence that there was any one else in the room. -No other voice but Mr. Ackroyd’s was heard, remember.” - -“Surely a man wouldn’t read letters of that type aloud to himself—not -unless he was—well—going balmy.” - -“You have all forgotten one thing,” said Poirot softly: “the stranger -who called at the house the preceding Wednesday.” - -They all stared at him. - -“But yes,” said Poirot, nodding encouragingly, “on Wednesday. The -young man was not of himself important. But the firm he represented -interested me very much.” - -“The Dictaphone Company,” gasped Raymond. “I see it now. A dictaphone. -That’s what you think?” - -Poirot nodded. - -“Mr. Ackroyd had promised to invest in a dictaphone, you remember. -Me, I had the curiosity to inquire of the company in question. Their -reply is that Mr. Ackroyd _did_ purchase a dictaphone from their -representative. Why he concealed the matter from you, I do not know.” - -“He must have meant to surprise me with it,” murmured Raymond. “He had -quite a childish love of surprising people. Meant to keep it up his -sleeve for a day or so. Probably was playing with it like a new toy. -Yes, it fits in. You’re quite right—no one would use quite those words -in casual conversation.” - -“It explains, too,” said Poirot, “why Major Blunt thought it was you -who were in the study. Such scraps as came to him were fragments of -dictation, and so his subconscious mind deduced that you were with him. -His conscious mind was occupied with something quite different—the -white figure he had caught a glimpse of. He fancied it was Miss -Ackroyd. Really, of course, it was Ursula Bourne’s white apron he saw -as she was stealing down to the summer-house.” - -Raymond had recovered from his first surprise. - -“All the same,” he remarked, “this discovery of yours, brilliant though -it is (I’m quite sure I should never have thought of it), leaves the -essential position unchanged. Mr. Ackroyd was alive at nine-thirty, -since he was speaking into the dictaphone. It seems clear that the man -Charles Kent was really off the premises by then. As to Ralph Paton——?” - -He hesitated, glancing at Ursula. - -Her color flared up, but she answered steadily enough. - -“Ralph and I parted just before a quarter to ten. He never went near -the house, I am sure of that. He had no intention of doing so. The last -thing on earth he wanted was to face his stepfather. He would have -funked it badly.” - -“It isn’t that I doubt your story for a moment,” explained Raymond. -“I’ve always been quite sure Captain Paton was innocent. But one has to -think of a court of law—and the questions that would be asked. He is in -a most unfortunate position, but if he were to come forward——” - -Poirot interrupted. - -“That is your advice, yes? That he should come forward?” - -“Certainly. If you know where he is——” - -“I perceive that you do not believe that I do know. And yet I have told -you just now that I know everything. The truth of the telephone call, -of the footprints on the window-sill, of the hiding-place of Ralph -Paton——” - -“Where is he?” said Blunt sharply. - -“Not very far away,” said Poirot, smiling. - -“In Cranchester?” I asked. - -Poirot turned towards me. - -“Always you ask me that. The idea of Cranchester it is with you an -_idée fixe_. No, he is not in Cranchester. He is—_there_!” - -He pointed a dramatic forefinger. Every one’s head turned. - -Ralph Paton was standing in the doorway. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - RALPH PATON’S STORY - - -It was a very uncomfortable minute for _me_. I hardly took in what -happened next, but there were exclamations and cries of surprise! When -I was sufficiently master of myself to be able to realize what was -going on, Ralph Paton was standing by his wife, her hand in his, and he -was smiling across the room at me. - -Poirot, too, was smiling, and at the same time shaking an eloquent -finger at me. - -“Have I not told you at least thirty-six times that it is useless to -conceal things from Hercule Poirot?” he demanded. “That in such a case -he finds out?” - -He turned to the others. - -“One day, you remember, we held a little séance about a table—just -the six of us. I accused the other five persons present of concealing -something from me. Four of them gave up their secret. Dr. Sheppard did -not give up his. But all along I have had my suspicions. Dr. Sheppard -went to the Three Boars that night hoping to find Ralph. He did not -find him there; but supposing, I said to myself, that he met him in the -street on his way home? Dr. Sheppard was a friend of Captain Paton’s, -and he had come straight from the scene of the crime. He must know that -things looked very black against him. Perhaps he knew more than the -general public did——” - -“I did,” I said ruefully. “I suppose I might as well make a clean -breast of things now. I went to see Ralph that afternoon. At first he -refused to take me into his confidence, but later he told me about his -marriage, and the hole he was in. As soon as the murder was discovered, -I realized that once the facts were known, suspicion could not fail to -attach to Ralph—or, if not to him, to the girl he loved. That night I -put the facts plainly before him. The thought of having possibly to -give evidence which might incriminate his wife made him resolve at all -costs to—to——” - -I hesitated, and Ralph filled up the gap. - -“To do a bunk,” he said graphically. “You see, Ursula left me to go -back to the house. I thought it possible that she might have attempted -to have another interview with my stepfather. He had already been very -rude to her that afternoon. It occurred to me that he might have so -insulted her—in such an unforgivable manner—that without knowing what -she was doing——” - -He stopped. Ursula released her hand from his, and stepped back. - -“You thought that, Ralph! You actually thought that I might have done -it?” - -“Let us get back to the culpable conduct of Dr. Sheppard,” said Poirot -dryly. “Dr. Sheppard consented to do what he could to help him. He was -successful in hiding Captain Paton from the police.” - -“Where?” asked Raymond. “In his own house?” - -“Ah, no, indeed,” said Poirot. “You should ask yourself the question -that I did. If the good doctor is concealing the young man, what place -would he choose? It must necessarily be somewhere near at hand. I think -of Cranchester. A hotel? No. Lodgings? Even more emphatically, no. -Where, then? Ah! I have it. A nursing home. A home for the mentally -unfit. I test my theory. I invent a nephew with mental trouble. I -consult Mademoiselle Sheppard as to suitable homes. She gives me the -names of two near Cranchester to which her brother has sent patients. I -make inquiries. Yes, at one of them a patient was brought there by the -doctor himself early on Saturday morning. That patient, though known -by another name, I had no difficulty in identifying as Captain Paton. -After certain necessary formalities, I was allowed to bring him away. -He arrived at my house in the early hours of yesterday morning.” - -I looked at him ruefully. - -“Caroline’s Home Office expert,” I murmured. “And to think I never -guessed!” - -“You see now why I drew attention to the reticence of your manuscript,” -murmured Poirot. “It was strictly truthful as far as it went—but it did -not go very far, eh, my friend?” - -I was too abashed to argue. - -“Dr. Sheppard has been very loyal,” said Ralph. “He has stood by me -through thick and thin. He did what he thought was the best. I see now, -from what M. Poirot has told me, that it was not really the best. I -should have come forward and faced the music. You see, in the home, we -never saw a newspaper. I knew nothing of what was going on.” - -“Dr. Sheppard has been a model of discretion,” said Poirot dryly. “But -me, I discover all the little secrets. It is my business.” - -“Now we can have your story of what happened that night,” said Raymond -impatiently. - -“You know it already,” said Ralph. “There’s very little for me to add. -I left the summer-house about nine-forty-five, and tramped about the -lanes, trying to make up my mind as to what to do next—what line to -take. I’m bound to admit that I’ve not the shadow of an alibi, but I -give you my solemn word that I never went to the study, that I never -saw my stepfather alive—or dead. Whatever the world thinks, I’d like -all of you to believe me.” - -“No alibi,” murmured Raymond. “That’s bad. I believe you, of course, -but—it’s a bad business.” - -“It makes things very simple, though,” said Poirot, in a cheerful -voice. “Very simple indeed.” - -We all stared at him. - -“You see what I mean? No? Just this—to save Captain Paton the real -criminal must confess.” - -He beamed round at us all. - -“But yes—I mean what I say. See now, I did not invite Inspector Raglan -to be present. That was for a reason. I did not want to tell him all -that I knew—at least I did not want to tell him to-night.” - -He leaned forward, and suddenly his voice and his whole personality -changed. He suddenly became dangerous. - -“I who speak to you—I know the murderer of Mr. Ackroyd is in this -room now. It is to the murderer I speak. _To-morrow the truth goes to -Inspector Raglan._ You understand?” - -There was a tense silence. Into the midst of it came the old Breton -woman with a telegram on a salver. Poirot tore it open. - -Blunt’s voice rose abrupt and resonant. - -“The murderer is amongst us, you say? You know—which?” - -Poirot had read the message. He crumpled it up in his hand. - -“I know—now.” - -He tapped the crumpled ball of paper. - -“What is that?” said Raymond sharply. - -“A wireless message—from a steamer now on her way to the United States.” - -There was a dead silence. Poirot rose to his feet bowing. - -“Messieurs et Mesdames, this reunion of mine is at an end. -Remember—_the truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the morning_.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - THE WHOLE TRUTH - - -A slight gesture from Poirot enjoined me to stay behind the rest. I -obeyed, going over to the fire and thoughtfully stirring the big logs -on it with the toe of my boot. - -I was puzzled. For the first time I was absolutely at sea as to -Poirot’s meaning. For a moment I was inclined to think that the scene -I had just witnessed was a gigantic piece of bombast—that he had been -what he called “playing the comedy” with a view to making himself -interesting and important. But, in spite of myself, I was forced to -believe in an underlying reality. There had been real menace in his -words—a certain indisputable sincerity. But I still believed him to be -on entirely the wrong tack. - -When the door shut behind the last of the party he came over to the -fire. - -“Well, my friend,” he said quietly, “and what do you think of it all?” - -“I don’t know what to think,” I said frankly. “What was the point? Why -not go straight to Inspector Raglan with the truth instead of giving -the guilty person this elaborate warning?” - -Poirot sat down and drew out his case of tiny Russian cigarettes. He -smoked for a minute or two in silence. Then:— - -“Use your little gray cells,” he said. “There is always a reason behind -my actions.” - -I hesitated for a moment, and then I said slowly: - -“The first one that occurs to me is that you yourself do not know who -the guilty person is, but that you are sure that he is to be found -amongst the people here to-night. Therefore your words were intended to -force a confession from the unknown murderer?” - -Poirot nodded approvingly. - -“A clever idea, but not the truth.” - -“I thought, perhaps, that by making him believe you knew, you might -force him out into the open—not necessarily by confession. He might try -to silence you as he formerly silenced Mr. Ackroyd—before you could act -to-morrow morning.” - -“A trap with myself as the bait! _Merci, mon ami_, but I am not -sufficiently heroic for that.” - -“Then I fail to understand you. Surely you are running the risk of -letting the murderer escape by thus putting him on his guard?” - -Poirot shook his head. - -“He cannot escape,” he said gravely. “There is only one way out—and -that way does not lead to freedom.” - -“You really believe that one of those people here to-night committed -the murder?” I asked incredulously. - -“Yes, my friend.” - -“Which one?” - -There was a silence for some minutes. Then Poirot tossed the stump of -his cigarette into the grate and began to speak in a quiet, reflective -tone. - -“I will take you the way that I have traveled myself. Step by step -you shall accompany me, and see for yourself that all the facts point -indisputably to one person. Now, to begin with, there were two facts -and one little discrepancy in time which especially attracted my -attention. The first fact was the telephone call. If Ralph Paton were -indeed the murderer, the telephone call became meaningless and absurd. -Therefore, I said to myself, Ralph Paton is not the murderer. - -“I satisfied myself that the call could not have been sent by any one -in the house, yet I was convinced that it was amongst those present -on the fatal evening that I had to look for my criminal. Therefore I -concluded that the telephone call must have been sent by an accomplice. -I was not quite pleased with that deduction, but I let it stand for the -minute. - -“I next examined the _motive_ for the call. That was difficult. I could -only get at it by judging its _result_. Which was—that the murder was -discovered that night instead of—in all probability—the following -morning. You agree with that?” - -“Ye-es,” I admitted. “Yes. As you say, Mr. Ackroyd, having given orders -that he was not to be disturbed, nobody would have been likely to go to -the study that night.” - -“_Très bien._ The affair marches, does it not? But matters were -still obscure. What was the advantage of having the crime discovered -that night in preference to the following morning? The only idea I -could get hold of was that the murderer, knowing the crime was to be -discovered at a certain time, could make sure of being present when the -door was broken in—or at any rate immediately afterwards. And now we -come to the second fact—the chair pulled out from the wall. Inspector -Raglan dismissed that as of no importance. I, on the contrary, have -always regarded it as of supreme importance. - -“In your manuscript you have drawn a neat little plan of the study. -If you had it with you this minute you would see that—the chair being -drawn out in the position indicated by Parker—it would stand in a -direct line between the door and the window.” - -“The window!” I said quickly. - -“You, too, have my first idea. I imagined that the chair was drawn out -so that something connected with the window should not be seen by any -one entering through the door. But I soon abandoned that supposition, -for though the chair was a grandfather with a high back, it obscured -very little of the window—only the part between the sash and the -ground. No, _mon ami_—but remember that just in front of the window -there stood a table with books and magazines upon it. Now that table -_was_ completely hidden by the drawn-out chair—and immediately I had my -first shadowy suspicion of the truth. - -“Supposing that there had been something on that table not intended -to be seen? Something placed there by the murderer? As yet I had no -inkling of what that something might be. But I knew certain very -interesting facts about it. For instance, it was something that the -murderer had not been able to take away with him at the time that he -committed the crime. At the same time it was vital that it should be -removed as soon as possible after the crime had been discovered. And -so—the telephone message, and the opportunity for the murderer to be on -the spot when the body was discovered. - -“Now four people were on the scene before the police arrived. Yourself, -Parker, Major Blunt, and Mr. Raymond. Parker I eliminated at once, -since at whatever time the crime was discovered, he was the one -person certain to be on the spot. Also it was he who told me of the -pulled-out chair. Parker, then, was cleared (of the murder, that is. I -still thought it possible that he had been blackmailing Mrs. Ferrars). -Raymond and Blunt, however, remained under suspicion since, if the -crime had been discovered in the early hours of the morning, it was -quite possible that they might have arrived on the scene too late to -prevent the object on the round table being discovered. - -“Now what was that object? You heard my arguments to-night in reference -to the scrap of conversation overheard? As soon as I learned that -a representative of a dictaphone company had called, the idea of a -dictaphone took root in my mind. You heard what I said in this room not -half an hour ago? They all agreed with my theory—but one vital fact -seems to have escaped them. Granted that a dictaphone was being used by -Mr. Ackroyd that night—why was no dictaphone found?” - -“I never thought of that,” I said. - -“We know that a dictaphone was supplied to Mr. Ackroyd. But no -dictaphone has been found amongst his effects. So, if something was -taken from that table—why should not that something be the dictaphone? -But there were certain difficulties in the way. The attention of every -one was, of course, focused on the murdered man. I think any one could -have gone to the table unnoticed by the other people in the room. But -a dictaphone has a certain bulk—it cannot be slipped casually into -a pocket. There must have been a receptacle of some kind capable of -holding it. - -“You see where I am arriving? The figure of the murderer is taking -shape. A person who was on the scene straightway, but who might not -have been if the crime had been discovered the following morning. -A person carrying a receptacle into which the dictaphone might be -fitted——” - -I interrupted. - -“But why remove the dictaphone? What was the point?” - -“You are like Mr. Raymond. You take it for granted that what was heard -at nine-thirty was Mr. Ackroyd’s voice speaking into a dictaphone. But -consider this useful invention for a little minute. You dictate into -it, do you not? And at some later time a secretary or a typist turns it -on, and the voice speaks again.” - -“You mean——” I gasped. - -Poirot nodded. - -“Yes, I mean that. _At nine-thirty Mr. Ackroyd was already dead._ It -was the dictaphone speaking—not the man.” - -“And the murderer switched it on. Then he must have been in the room at -that minute?” - -“Possibly. But we must not exclude the likelihood of some mechanical -device having been applied—something after the nature of a time lock, -or even of a simple alarm clock. But in that case we must add two -qualifications to our imaginary portrait of the murderer. It must be -some one who knew of Mr. Ackroyd’s purchase of the dictaphone and also -some one with the necessary mechanical knowledge. - -“I had got thus far in my own mind when we came to the footprints on -the window ledge. Here there were three conclusions open to me. (1) -They might really have been made by Ralph Paton. He had been at Fernly -that night, and might have climbed into the study and found his uncle -dead there. That was one hypothesis. (2) There was the possibility that -the footmarks might have been made by somebody else who happened to -have the same kind of studs in his shoes. But the inmates of the house -had shoes soled with crepe rubber, and I declined to believe in the -coincidence of some one from outside having the same kind of shoes as -Ralph Paton wore. Charles Kent, as we know from the barmaid of the Dog -and Whistle, had on a pair of boots ‘clean dropping off him.’ (3) Those -prints were made by some one deliberately trying to throw suspicion -on Ralph Paton. To test this last conclusion, it was necessary to -ascertain certain facts. One pair of Ralph’s shoes had been obtained -from the Three Boars by the police. Neither Ralph nor any one else -could have worn them that evening, since they were downstairs being -cleaned. According to the police theory, Ralph was wearing another pair -of the same kind, and I found out that it was true that he had two -pairs. Now for my theory to be proved correct it was necessary for the -murderer to have worn Ralph’s shoes that evening—in which case Ralph -must have been wearing yet a _third_ pair of footwear of some kind. -I could hardly suppose that he would bring three pairs of shoes all -alike—the third pair of footwear were more likely to be boots. I got -your sister to make inquiries on this point—laying some stress on the -color, in order—I admit it frankly—to obscure the real reason for my -asking. - -“You know the result of her investigations. Ralph Paton _had_ had a -pair of boots with him. The first question I asked him when he came to -my house yesterday morning was what he was wearing on his feet on the -fatal night. He replied at once that he had worn _boots_—he was still -wearing them, in fact—having nothing else to put on. - -“So we get a step further in our description of the murderer—a person -who had the opportunity to take these shoes of Ralph Paton’s from the -Three Boars that day.” - -He paused, and then said, with a slightly raised voice:— - -“There is one further point. The murderer must have been a person who -had the opportunity to purloin that dagger from the silver table. You -might argue that any one in the house might have done so, but I will -recall to you that Miss Ackroyd was very positive that the dagger was -not there when she examined the silver table.” - -He paused again. - -“Let us recapitulate—now that all is clear. A person who was at the -Three Boars earlier that day, a person who knew Ackroyd well enough -to know that he had purchased a dictaphone, a person who was of a -mechanical turn of mind, who had the opportunity to take the dagger -from the silver table before Miss Flora arrived, who had with him a -receptacle suitable for hiding the dictaphone—such as a black bag, and -who had the study to himself for a few minutes after the crime was -discovered while Parker was telephoning for the police. In fact—_Dr. -Sheppard!_” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH - - -There was a dead silence for a minute and a half. - -Then I laughed. - -“You’re mad,” I said. - -“No,” said Poirot placidly. “I am not mad. It was the little -discrepancy in time that first drew my attention to you—right at the -beginning.” - -“Discrepancy in time?” I queried, puzzled. - -“But yes. You will remember that every one agreed—you yourself -included—that it took five minutes to walk from the lodge to the -house—less if you took the short cut to the terrace. But you left the -house at ten minutes to nine—both by your own statement and that of -Parker, and yet it was nine o’clock as you passed through the lodge -gates. It was a chilly night—not an evening a man would be inclined to -dawdle; why had you taken ten minutes to do a five-minutes’ walk? All -along I realized that we had only your statement for it that the study -window was ever fastened. Ackroyd asked you if you had done so—he never -looked to see. Supposing, then, that the study window was unfastened? -Would there be time in that ten minutes for you to run round the -outside of the house, change your shoes, climb in through the window, -kill Ackroyd, and get to the gate by nine o’clock? I decided against -that theory since in all probability a man as nervous as Ackroyd was -that night would hear you climbing in, and then there would have been -a struggle. But supposing that you killed Ackroyd _before_ you left—as -you were standing beside his chair? Then you go out of the front door, -run round to the summer-house, take Ralph Paton’s shoes out of the bag -you brought up with you that night, slip them on, walk through the -mud in them, and leave prints on the window ledge, you climb in, lock -the study door on the inside, run back to the summer-house, change -back into your own shoes, and race down to the gate. (I went through -similar actions the other day, when you were with Mrs. Ackroyd—it took -ten minutes exactly.) Then home—and an alibi—since you had timed the -dictaphone for half-past nine.” - -“My dear Poirot,” I said in a voice that sounded strange and forced to -my own ears, “you’ve been brooding over this case too long. What on -earth had I to gain by murdering Ackroyd?” - -“Safety. It was you who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars. Who could have had -a better knowledge of what killed Mr. Ferrars than the doctor who was -attending him? When you spoke to me that first day in the garden, -you mentioned a legacy received about a year ago. I have been unable -to discover any trace of a legacy. You had to invent some way of -accounting for Mrs. Ferrars’s twenty thousand pounds. It has not done -you much good. You lost most of it in speculation—then you put the -screw on too hard, and Mrs. Ferrars took a way out that you had not -expected. If Ackroyd had learnt the truth he would have had no mercy on -you—you were ruined for ever.” - -“And the telephone call?” I asked, trying to rally. “You have a -plausible explanation of that also, I suppose?” - -“I will confess to you that it was my greatest stumbling block when -I found that a call had actually been put through to you from King’s -Abbot station. I at first believed that you had simply invented the -story. It was a very clever touch, that. You must have some excuse for -arriving at Fernly, finding the body, and so getting the chance to -remove the dictaphone on which your alibi depended. I had a very vague -notion of how it was worked when I came to see your sister that first -day and inquired as to what patients you had seen on Friday morning. I -had no thought of Miss Russell in my mind at that time. Her visit was a -lucky coincidence, since it distracted your mind from the real object -of my questions. I found what I was looking for. Among your patients -that morning was the steward of an American liner. Who more suitable -than he to be leaving for Liverpool by the train that evening? And -afterwards he would be on the high seas, well out of the way. I noted -that the _Orion_ sailed on Saturday, and having obtained the name of -the steward I sent him a wireless message asking a certain question. -This is his reply you saw me receive just now.” - -He held out the message to me. It ran as follows— - -“Quite correct. Dr. Sheppard asked me to leave a note at a patient’s -house. I was to ring him up from the station with the reply. Reply was -‘No answer.’” - - * * * * * - -“It was a clever idea,” said Poirot. “The call was genuine. Your sister -saw you take it. But there was only one man’s word as to what was -actually said—your own!” - -I yawned. - -“All this,” I said, “is very interesting—but hardly in the sphere of -practical politics.” - -“You think not? Remember what I said—the truth goes to Inspector Raglan -in the morning. But, for the sake of your good sister, I am willing to -give you the chance of another way out. There might be, for instance, -an overdose of a sleeping draught. You comprehend me? But Captain Ralph -Paton must be cleared—_ça va sans dire_. I should suggest that you -finish that very interesting manuscript of yours—but abandoning your -former reticence.” - -“You seem to be very prolific of suggestions,” I remarked. “Are you -sure you’ve quite finished.” - -“Now that you remind me of the fact, it is true that there is one thing -more. It would be most unwise on your part to attempt to silence me as -you silenced M. Ackroyd. That kind of business does not succeed against -Hercule Poirot, you understand.” - -“My dear Poirot,” I said, smiling a little, “whatever else I may be, I -am not a fool.” - -I rose to my feet. - -“Well, well,” I said, with a slight yawn, “I must be off home. Thank -you for a most interesting and instructive evening.” - -Poirot also rose and bowed with his accustomed politeness as I passed -out of the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - APOLOGIA - - -Five a.m. I am very tired—but I have finished my task. My arm aches -from writing. - -A strange end to my manuscript. I meant it to be published some day as -the history of one of Poirot’s failures! Odd, how things pan out. - -All along I’ve had a premonition of disaster, from the moment I saw -Ralph Paton and Mrs. Ferrars with their heads together. I thought then -that she was confiding in him; as it happened I was quite wrong there, -but the idea persisted even after I went into the study with Ackroyd -that night, until he told me the truth. - -Poor old Ackroyd. I’m always glad that I gave him a chance. I urged him -to read that letter before it was too late. Or let me be honest—didn’t -I subconsciously realize that with a pig-headed chap like him, it was -my best chance of getting him _not_ to read it? His nervousness that -night was interesting psychologically. He knew danger was close at -hand. And yet he never suspected _me_. - -The dagger was an afterthought. I’d brought up a very handy little -weapon of my own, but when I saw the dagger lying in the silver table, -it occurred to me at once how much better it would be to use a weapon -that couldn’t be traced to me. - -I suppose I must have meant to murder him all along. As soon as I heard -of Mrs. Ferrars’s death, I felt convinced that she would have told him -everything before she died. When I met him and he seemed so agitated, -I thought that perhaps he knew the truth, but that he couldn’t bring -himself to believe it, and was going to give me the chance of refuting -it. - -So I went home and took my precautions. If the trouble were after all -only something to do with Ralph—well, no harm would have been done. The -dictaphone he had given me two days before to adjust. Something had -gone a little wrong with it, and I persuaded him to let me have a go at -it, instead of sending it back. I did what I wanted to it, and took it -up with me in my bag that evening. - -I am rather pleased with myself as a writer. What could be neater, for -instance, than the following:— - -“_The letters were brought in at twenty minutes to nine. It was just -on ten minutes to nine when I left him, the letter still unread. I -hesitated with my hand on the door handle, looking back and wondering -if there was anything I had left undone._” - -All true, you see. But suppose I had put a row of stars after the first -sentence! Would somebody then have wondered what exactly happened in -that blank ten minutes? - -When I looked round the room from the door, I was quite satisfied. -Nothing had been left undone. The dictaphone was on the table by the -window, timed to go off at nine-thirty (the mechanism of that little -device was rather clever—based on the principle of an alarm clock), and -the arm-chair was pulled out so as to hide it from the door. - -I must admit that it gave me rather a shock to run into Parker just -outside the door. I have faithfully recorded that fact. - -Then later, when the body was discovered, and I had sent Parker to -telephone for the police, what a judicious use of words: “_I did -what little had to be done!_” It was quite little—just to shove the -dictaphone into my bag and push back the chair against the wall in -its proper place. I never dreamed that Parker would have noticed -that chair. Logically, he ought to have been so agog over the body -as to be blind to everything else. But I hadn’t reckoned with the -trained-servant complex. - -I wish I could have known beforehand that Flora was going to say she’d -seen her uncle alive at a quarter to ten. That puzzled me more than -I can say. In fact, all through the case there have been things that -puzzled me hopelessly. Every one seems to have taken a hand. - -My greatest fear all through has been Caroline. I have fancied she -might guess. Curious the way she spoke that day of my “strain of -weakness.” - -Well, she will never know the truth. There is, as Poirot said, one way -out.... - -I can trust him. He and Inspector Raglan will manage it between them. I -should not like Caroline to know. She is fond of me, and then, too, she -is proud.... My death will be a grief to her, but grief passes.... - -When I have finished writing, I shall enclose this whole manuscript in -an envelope and address it to Poirot. - -And then—what shall it be? Veronal? There would be a kind of poetic -justice. Not that I take any responsibility for Mrs. Ferrars’s death. -It was the direct consequence of her own actions. I feel no pity for -her. - -I have no pity for myself either. - -So let it be veronal. - -But I wish Hercule Poirot had never retired from work and come here to -grow vegetable marrows. - - - THE END - - - - - +==================================================================+ - ‖ “_The Books You Like to Read ‖ - ‖ at the Price You Like to Pay_” ‖ - ‖------------------------------------------------------------------‖ - ‖ ‖ - ‖ _There Are Two Sides to Everything_— ‖ - ‖ ‖ - ‖ —including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap ‖ - ‖ book. 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But that - true love is everlasting. - - SONIA - - Sonia Marsh goes to San Francisco to seek a new life and a happy - one but she finds everything is not smooth sailing. After many - harrowing experiences she finally marries the man she loves. - - SEQUEL TO SONIA - - It continues the life story of Sonia Marsh, who left her small - town to go to the city, where she falls in love with a Doctor and - marries him. - -======================================================================= - GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers,_ NEW YORK -======================================================================= - - -======================================================================= - RAFAEL SABATINI’S NOVELS -======================================================================= - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. -======================================================================= - -Jesi a diminutive city of the Italian Marches, was the birthplace of -Rafael Sabatini. - -He first went to school in Switzerland and from there to Lycee of -Oporto, Portugal, and has never attended an English school. But English -is hardly an adopted language for him, as he learned it from his -mother, an English woman. - -Today Rafael Sabatini is regarded as “The Alexandre Dumas of Modern -Fiction.” - - THE LION’S SKIN - THE SHAME OF MOTLEY - THE TRAMPLING OF THE LILIES - THE GATES OF DOOM - THE STROLLING SAINT - THE BANNER OF THE BULL - THE CAROLINIAN - SAINT MARTIN’S SUMMER - MISTRESS WILDING - FORTUNE’S FOOL - BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT - THE SNARE - CAPTAIN BLOOD - THE SEA-HAWK - SCARAMOUCHE - -======================================================================= - GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers,_ NEW YORK -======================================================================= - - -======================================================================= - ZANE GREY’S NOVELS -======================================================================= -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. -======================================================================= - - UNDER THE TONTO RIM - TAPPAN’S BURRO - THE VANISHING AMERICAN - THE THUNDERING HERD - THE CALL OF THE CANYON - WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND - TO THE LAST MAN - THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER - THE MAN OF THE FOREST - THE DESERT OF WHEAT - THE U. P. TRAIL - WILDFIRE - THE BORDER LEGION - THE RAINBOW TRAIL - THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT - RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE - THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS - THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN - THE LONE STAR RANGER - DESERT GOLD - BETTY ZANE - THE DAY OF THE BEAST - - * * * * * - -LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS - -The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with -Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey. - -ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS - - ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON - KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE - THE YOUNG LION HUNTER - THE YOUNG FORESTER - THE YOUNG PITCHER - THE SHORT STOP - THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES - -======================================================================= - GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers,_ NEW YORK -======================================================================= - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Blank pages have been removed. - - Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD ***
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