Agatha Christie

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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?" ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”