The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда
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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.’
‘Where is this money? In his desk?’
‘No, he always kept his cash in his bedroom. In an old collar box, to be accurate. funny idea, wasn’t it?’
‘I think,’ said the lawyer, ‘we ought to make sure the money is there before I leave.’
‘Certainly,’ agreed the secretary. ‘I’ll take you up now… oh! I forgot. The door’s locked.’
Inquiry from Parker elicited the information that Inspector raglan was in the housekeeper’s room asking a few supplementary questions. A few minutes later the inspector joined the party in the hall, bringing the key with him. he unlocked the door and we passed into the lobby and up the small staircase. At the top of the stairs the door into Ackroyd’s bedroom stood open. Inside the room it was dark, the curtains were drawn, and the bed was turned down just as it had been last night. The inspector drew the curtains, letting in the sunlight, and geoffrey raymond went to the top drawer of a rosewood bureau.
‘He kept his money like that, in an unlocked drawer. Just fancy,’ commented the inspector.
The secretary flushed a little.
‘Mr Ackroyd had perfect faith in the honesty of all the servants,’ he said hotly.
‘Oh! quite so,’ said the inspector hastily.
Raymond opened the drawer, took out a round 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 parlourmaid 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 sang-froid. 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.