The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Hercule Poirot 4)

'Well,' said the inspector, handing it back, 'let's have a look at the other one, Elsie Dale.' Elsie Dale was a big fair girl, with a pleasant but slightly stupid face. She answered our questions readily enough, and showed much distress and concern at the loss of the money.

'I don't think there's anything wrong with her,' observed the inspector, after he had dismissed her. 'What about Parker?' Miss Russell pursed her lips together and made no reply.

'I've a feeling there's something wrong about that man,' the inspector continued thoughtfully. 'The trouble is that I don't quite see when he got his opportunity. He'd be busy with his duties immediately after dinner, and he'd got a pretty good alibi all through the evening. I know, for I've been devoting particular attention to it. Well, thank you very much. Miss Russell. We'll leave things as they are for the present. It's highly probable Mr Ackroyd paid that money away himself.' The housekeeper bade us a dry good afternoon, and we took our leave.

I left the house with Poirot.

'I wonder,' I said, breaking the silence, 'what the papers the girl disarranged could have been for Ackroyd to have got into such a state about them? I wonder if there is any clue there to the mystery.' 'The secretary said there were no papers of particular importance on the desk,' said Poirot quietly.

'Yes, but -' I paused.

'It strikes you as odd that Ackroyd should have flown into a rage about so trivial a matter?' 'Yes, it does rather.' 'But was it a trivial matter?' 'Of course,' I admitted, 'we don't know what those papers may have been. But Raymond certainly said ' 'Leave M. Raymond out of it for a minute. What did you think of that girl?' 'Which girl? The parlourmaid?' 'Yes, the parlourmaid. Ursula Bourne.' 'She seemed a nice girl,' I said hesitatingly.

Poirot repeated my words, but whereas I had laid a slight stress on the fourth word, he put it on the second.

'She seemed a nice girl - yes.' Then, after a minute's silence, he took something from his pocket and handed it to me.

'See, my friend, I will show you something. Look there.' The paper he had handed me was that compiled by the inspector and given by him to Poirot that morning.

Following the pointing finger, I saw a small cross marked in pencil opposite the name Ursula Bourne.

'You may not have noticed it at the time, my good friend, but there was one person on this list whose alibi had no kind of confirmation. Ursula Bourne.' 'You don't think-?' 'Dr Sheppard, I dare to think anything. Ursula Bourne may have killed Mr Ackroyd, but I confess I can see no motive for her doing so. Can you?' He looked at me very hard - so hard that I felt uncomfortable.

'Can you?' he repeated.

'No motive whatsoever,' I said firmly.

His gaze relaxed. He frowned and murmured to himself: 'Since the blackmailer was a man, it follows that she cannot be the blackmailer, then ' I coughed.

'As far as that goes -' I began doubtfully.

He spun round on me.

'What? What are you going to say?' 'Nothing, Nothing. Only that, strictly speaking, Mrs Ferrars in her letter mentioned a person - she didn't actually specify a man. But we took it for granted, Ackroyd and I, that it was a man.' Poirot did not seem to be listening to me. He was muttering to himself again.

'But then it is possible after all - yes, certainly it is possible - but then - ah! I must rearrange my ideas.

Method, order, never have I needed them more. Everything must fit in - in its appointed place - otherwise I am on the wrong track.' He broke off, and whirled round upon me again.

'Where is Marby?' 'It's on the other side of Cranchester.' 'How far away?' 'Oh! - fourteen miles, perhaps.' 'Would it be possible for you to go there? Tomorrow, say?' Tomorrrow? Let me see, that's Sunday. Yes, I could arrange it. What do you want me to do there?' 'See this Mrs Folliott. Find out all you can about Ursula Bourne.' 'Very well. But - I don't much care for the job.' 'It is not the time to make difficulties. A man's life may hang on this.' 'Poor Ralph,' I said with a sigh. 'You believe him to be innocent, though?' Poirot looked at me very gravely.

'Do you want to know the truth?' 'Of course.' 'Then you shall have it. My friend, everything points to the assumption that he is guilty.' 'What!' I exclaimed.

Poirot nodded.

'Yes, that stupid inspector - for he is stupid - has everything pointing his way. I seek for the truth - and the truth leads me every time to Ralph Paton. Motive, opportunity, means. But I will leave no stone unturned. I promised Mademoiselle Flora. And she was very sure, that little one.

But very sure indeed.'

Chapter 10. Poirot Pays A Call

I was slightly nervous when I rang the bell at Marby Grange the following afternoon. I wondered very much what Poirot expected to find out. He had entrusted the job to me. Why? Was it because, as in the case of questioning Major Blunt, he wished to remain in the background? The wish, intelligible in the first case, seemed to me quite meaningless here.

My meditations were interrupted by the advent of a smart parlourmaid.

Yes, Mrs Folliott was at home. I was ushered into a big drawing-room, and looked round me curiously as I waited for the mistress of the house. A large bare room, some good bits of old china, and some beautiful etchings, shabby covers and curtains. A lady's room in every sense of the term.

I turned from the inspection of a Bartolozzi on the wall as Mrs Folliott came into the room. She was a tall woman, with untidy brown hair, and a very winning smile.

'Dr Sheppard,' she said hesitatingly.

'That is my name,' I replied. 'I must apologize for calling upon you like this, but I wanted some information about a parlourmaid previously employed by you, Ursula Bourne.' With the utterance of the name the smile vanished from her face, and all the cordiality froze out of her manner. She looked uncomfortable and ill at ease.

'Ursula Bourne?' she said hesitatingly.

'Yes,' I said. 'Perhaps you don't remember the name?' 'Oh, yes, of course. I - I remember perfectly.' 'She left you just over a year ago, I understand?' 'Yes. Yes, she did. That is quite right.' 'And you were satisfied with her whilst she was with you?

How long was she with you, by the way?' 'Oh! a year or two - I can't remember exactly how long.

She - she is very capable. I'm sure you will find her quite satisfactory. I didn't know she was leaving Fernly. I hadn't the least idea of it.' 'Can you tell me anything about her?' I asked.

'Anything about her?' 'Yes, where she comes from, who her people are - that sort of thing?' Mrs Folliott's face wore more than ever its frozen look.

'I don't know at all.' 'Who was she with before she came to you?' 'I'm afraid I don't remember.' There was a spark of anger now underlying her nervousness. She flung up her head in a gesture that was vaguely familiar.

'Is it really necessary to ask all these questions?' 'Not at all,' I said, with an air of surprise and a tinge of apology in my manner. 'I had no idea you would mind answering them. I am very sorry.' Her anger left her and she became confused again.

'Oh! I don't mind answe

ring them. I assure you I don't.

Why should I? It - it just seemed a little odd, you know.

That's all. A little odd.' One advantage of being a medical practitioner is that you can usually tell when people are lying to you. I should have know from Mrs Folliott's manner, if from nothing else, that she did mind answering my questions - minded intensely.

She was thoroughly uncomfortable and upset, and there was plainly some mystery in the background. I judged her to be a woman quite unused to deception of any kind, and consequently rendered acutely uneasy when forced to practise. A child could have seen through her.

But it was also clear the she had no intention of telling me anything further. Whatever the mystery centring round Ursula Bourne might be, I was not going to learn it through Mrs Folliott.

Defeated, I apologized once more for disturbing her, took my hat and departed.

I went to see a couple of patients and arrived home about six o'clock. Caroline was sitting beside the wreck of tea things.

She had that look of suppressed exultation on her face which I know only too well. It is a sure sign with her of either the getting or the giving of information. I wondered which it had been.

'I've had a very interesting afternoon,' began Caroline, as I dropped into my own particular easy-chair and stretched out my feet to the inviting blaze in the fireplace.