The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

I looked into his steady grey eyes. Nothing there surely. I went on:

‘I suppose you’d met her before?’

‘Last time I was here – she and her husband had just come here to live.’ He paused a minute and then added: ‘Rum thing, she had changed a lot between then and now.’

‘How – changed?’ I asked.

‘Looked ten years older.’

‘Were you down here when her husband died?’ I asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

‘No. from all I heard it would be good riddance. Uncharitable, perhaps, but the truth.’

I agreed.

‘Ashley Ferrars was by no means a pattern husband,’ I said cautiously.

‘Blackguard, I thought,’ said Blunt.

‘No,’ I said, ‘only a man with more money than was good for him.’

‘Oh! Money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money – or the lack of it.’

‘Which has been your particular trouble?’ I asked.

‘Enough for what I want. I’m one of the lucky ones.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I’m not too flush just now, as a matter of fact. Came into a legacy a year ago, and like a fool let myself be persuaded into putting it into some wild-cat scheme.’

I sympathized, and narrated my own similar trouble.

Then the gong pealed out, and we all went in to lunch.

Poirot drew me back a little.‘Eh bien?’

‘he’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Nothing – disturbing?’

‘He had a legacy just a year ago,’ I said. ‘But why not? Why shouldn’t he? I’ll swear the man is perfectly square and above board.’

‘Without doubt, without doubt,’ said Poirot soothingly. ‘Do not upset yourself.’

He spoke as though to a fractious child.

We all trooped into the dining-room. It seemed incredible that less than twenty-four hours had passed since I last sat at that table.

Afterwards, Mrs Ackroyd took me aside and sat down with me on a sofa.

‘I can’t help feeling a little hurt,’ she murmured, producing a handkerchief of the kind obviously not meant to be cried into. ‘hurt, I mean, by Roger’s lack of confidence in me. That twenty thousand pounds ought to have been left to me – not to Flora. A mother could be trusted to safeguard the interests of her child. A lack of trust, I call it.’

‘You forget, Mrs Ackroyd,’ I said, ‘Flora was Ackroyd’s own niece, a blood relation. It would have been different had you been his sister instead of his sister-in-law.’

‘As poor Cecil’s widow, I think my feelings ought to have been considered,’ said the lady, touching her eyelashes gingerly with the handkerchief. ‘But Roger was always most peculiar- not to say mean – about money matters. It has been a most difficult position for both flora and myself. he did not even give the poor child an allowance. He would pay her bills, you know, and even that with a good deal of reluctance and asking what she wanted all those fallals for – so like a man- but – now I’ve forgotten what it was I was going to say! oh, yes, not a penny we could call our own, you know. flora resented it – yes, I must say she resented it – very strongly. Though devoted to her uncle, of course. But any girl would have resented it. yes, I must say Roger had very strange ideas about money. He wouldn’t even buy new face towels, though I told him the old ones were in holes. And then,’ proceeded Mrs Ackroyd, with a sudden leap highly characteristic of her conversation, ‘to leave all that money – a thousand pounds, fancy, a thousand pounds! – to that woman.’

‘What woman?’

‘That Russell woman. Something very queer about her, and so I’ve always said. But Roger wouldn’t hear a word against her. Said she was a woman of great force of character, and that he admired and respected her. he was always going on about her rectitude and independence and moral worth. I think there’s something fishy about her. She was certainly doing her best to marry roger. But I soon put a stop to that. She always hated me. Naturally. I saw through her.’

I began to wonder if there was any chance of stemming Mrs Ackroyd’s eloquence, and getting away. Mr Hammond provided the necessary diversion by coming up to say goodbye. I seized my chance and rose also.

‘About the inquest,’ I said. ‘Where would you prefer it to be held? here, or at the Three Boars?’

Mrs Ackroyd stared at me with a dropped jaw.

‘The inquest?’ she asked, the picture of consternation. ‘But surely there won’t have to be an inquest?’

Mr Hammond gave a dry little cough and murmured, ‘Inevitable. under the circumstances,’ in two short little barks.

‘But surely dr Sheppard can arrange-’

‘There are limits to my powers of arrangement,’ I said drily.

‘If his death was an accident-’

‘He was murdered, Mrs Ackroyd,’ I said brutally.

She gave a little cry.

‘No theory of accident will hold water for a minute.’

Mrs Ackroyd looked at me in distress. I had no patience with what I thought was her silly fear of unpleasantness.

‘If there’s an inquest, I–I shan’t have to answer questions and all that, shall I?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know what will be necessary,’ I answered. ‘I imagine Mr Raymond will take the brunt of it off you. he knows all the circumstances, and can give formal evidence of identification.’

The lawyer assented with a little bow.

‘I really don’t think there is anything to dread, Mrs Ackroyd,’ he said. ‘you will be spared all the unpleasantness. Now, as to the question of money, have you all you need for the present? I mean,’ he added, as she looked at him inquiringly, ‘ready money. Cash, you know. If not, I can arrange to let you have whatever you require.’

‘That ought to be all right,’ said Raymond, who was standing by. ‘Mr Ackroyd cashed a cheque for a hundred pounds yesterday.’

‘A hundred pounds?’

‘Yes. For wages and other expenses due today. At the moment it is still intact.’