The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie (a court of thorns and roses ebook free .txt) 📕

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 some time 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 parlour maid 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 sangfroid.

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 parlour maid?

“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 grey eyes. She came in answer to the housekeeper’s summons, and stood very straight with those same grey 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 colour 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.

“Hm,” 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’d got a pretty good alibi all through the evening. I know, for I’ve been devoting particular attention