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

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 seriously, “I know now something I wanted to know. Let us leave it at that.”

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 galoshes and waterproofs after dinner. They partake of coffee and later of cake, sandwiches and tea.

On this particular night our guests were Miss Gannett 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 Gannett 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 Gannett joined us at this minute. Miss Gannett 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 Gannett “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 Gannett. “Pung⁠—no⁠—Unpung. I made a mistake.”

“Four Circles,” said Caroline. “Where did you see her?”

“She didn’t see me,” said Miss Gannett, with that tremendous significance only to be met with in small villages.

“Ah!” said Caroline interestedly. “Chow.”

“I believe,” said Miss Gannett, 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 Gannett retired, crushed.

“What were you saying about Flora Ackroyd?” asked Caroline, after a moment or two devoted to the game. “Was she with anyone?”

“Very much so,” said Miss Gannett.

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 Gannett. “(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 Gannett?” 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 Gannett, 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 Gannett. “I’ve just