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

“The number is complete,” said Poirot. “Everyone 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 windowsill. From there Inspector Raglan took me along the path which leads to the drive. My eye was caught by a little summerhouse, 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 parlour maid⁠—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 summerhouse? If so, she must have gone there to meet someone. Now we know from Dr. Sheppard that someone from outside did come to the house that night⁠—the stranger whom he met just by the gate. At first glance it would seem that our problem was solved, and that the stranger went to the summerhouse to meet Ursula Bourne. It was fairly certain that he did go to the summerhouse 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 summerhouse 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 summerhouse 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 summerhouse 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 summerhouse 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 summerhouse with his wife. Not Charles Kent, who had already left. Who, then? I posed my cleverest⁠—my most audacious question: Was anyone 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 someone. 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