The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда. Агата Кристи

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 fulfils 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 today?’

      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 marvellous 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 grey cells.’

      ‘The cells?’ said the inspector, staring.

      ‘The little grey 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 psycho-analysis 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 had 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 everyone 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