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Authors: Agatha Christie
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him.’ ‘Then why did you go to the Three Boars last night?’ demanded Flora, ‘on your way home - after Uncle’s body was found?’ I was momentarily silenced. I had hoped that that visit of mine would remain unnoticed.
‘How did you know about that?’ I countered.
‘I went there this morning,’ said Flora. ‘I heard from the servants that Ralph was staying there ‘ I interrupted her.
‘You had no idea that he was in King’s Abbot?’ ‘No. I was astounded. I couldn’t understand it. I went there and asked for him. They told me, what I suppose they told you last night, that he went out at about nine o’clock yesterday evening - and - and never came back.’ Her eyes met mine defiantly, and as though answering something in my look, she burst out: ‘Well, why shouldn’t he? He might have gone anywhere.
He may even have gone back to London.’ ‘Leaving his luggage behind?’ I asked gently.
Flora stamped her foot.
‘I don’t care. There must be a simple explanation.’ ‘And that’s why you want to go to Hercule Poirot? Isn’t it better to leave things as they are? The police don’t suspect Ralph in the least, remember. They’re working on quite another tack.’ ‘But that’s just it,’ cried the girl. They do suspect him. A man from Cranchester turned up this morning - Inspector Raglan, a horrid, weaselly little man. I found he had been to the Three Boars this morning before me. They told me all about his having been there, and the questions he had asked.
He must think Ralph did it.’ ‘That’s a change of mind from last night, if so,’ I said slowly. ‘He doesn’t believe in Davis’s theory that it was Parker then?’ ‘Parker indeed,’ said my sister, and snorted.
Flora came forward and laid her hand on my arm.
‘Oh! Dr Sheppard, let us go at once to this M. Poirot. He will find out the truth.’ ‘My dear Flora,’ I said gently, laying my hand on hers.
‘Are you quite sure it is the truth we want?’ She looked at me, nodding her head gravely.
‘You’re not sure,’ she said. ‘I am. I know Ralph better than you do.’ ‘Of course he didn’t do it,’ said Caroline, who had been keeping silent with great difficulty. ‘Ralph may be extravagant, but he’s a dear boy, and has the nicest manners.’ I wanted to tell Caroline that large numbers of murderers have had nice manners, but the presence of Flora restrained me. Since the girl was determined, I was forced to give in to her and we started at once, getting away before my sister was able to fire off any more pronouncements beginning with her favourite words, ‘Of course.’ An old woman with an immense Breton cap opened the door of The Larches to us. M. Poirot was at home, it seemed.
We were ushered into a little sitting-room arranged with formal precision, and there, after a lapse of a minute or so, my friend of yesterday came to us.
‘Monsieur Ie docteur,’ he said, smiling. ‘Mademoiselle.’ He bowed to Flora.
‘Perhaps,’ I began, ‘you have heard of the tragedy which occurred last night.’ His face grew grave.
‘But certainly I have heard. It is horrible. I offer mademoiselle all my sympathy. In what way can I serve you?’ ‘Miss Ackroyd,’ I said, ‘wants you to - to ‘ ‘To find the murderer,’ said Flora in a clear voice.
‘I see,’ said the little man. ‘But the police will do that, will they not?’ ‘They might make a mistake,’ said Flora. ‘They are on their way to make a mistake now, I think. Please, M.
Poirot, won’t you help us? If- if it is a question of money -’ Poirot held up his hand.
‘Not that, I beg of you, mademoiselle. Not that I do not care for money.’ His eyes showed a momentary twinkle.
‘Money, it means much to me and always has done. No, if I go into this, you must understand one thing clearly. I shall go through with it to the end. The good dog, he does not leave the scent, remember! You may wish that, after all, you had left it to the local
‘How did you know about that?’ I countered.
‘I went there this morning,’ said Flora. ‘I heard from the servants that Ralph was staying there ‘ I interrupted her.
‘You had no idea that he was in King’s Abbot?’ ‘No. I was astounded. I couldn’t understand it. I went there and asked for him. They told me, what I suppose they told you last night, that he went out at about nine o’clock yesterday evening - and - and never came back.’ Her eyes met mine defiantly, and as though answering something in my look, she burst out: ‘Well, why shouldn’t he? He might have gone anywhere.
He may even have gone back to London.’ ‘Leaving his luggage behind?’ I asked gently.
Flora stamped her foot.
‘I don’t care. There must be a simple explanation.’ ‘And that’s why you want to go to Hercule Poirot? Isn’t it better to leave things as they are? The police don’t suspect Ralph in the least, remember. They’re working on quite another tack.’ ‘But that’s just it,’ cried the girl. They do suspect him. A man from Cranchester turned up this morning - Inspector Raglan, a horrid, weaselly little man. I found he had been to the Three Boars this morning before me. They told me all about his having been there, and the questions he had asked.
He must think Ralph did it.’ ‘That’s a change of mind from last night, if so,’ I said slowly. ‘He doesn’t believe in Davis’s theory that it was Parker then?’ ‘Parker indeed,’ said my sister, and snorted.
Flora came forward and laid her hand on my arm.
‘Oh! Dr Sheppard, let us go at once to this M. Poirot. He will find out the truth.’ ‘My dear Flora,’ I said gently, laying my hand on hers.
‘Are you quite sure it is the truth we want?’ She looked at me, nodding her head gravely.
‘You’re not sure,’ she said. ‘I am. I know Ralph better than you do.’ ‘Of course he didn’t do it,’ said Caroline, who had been keeping silent with great difficulty. ‘Ralph may be extravagant, but he’s a dear boy, and has the nicest manners.’ I wanted to tell Caroline that large numbers of murderers have had nice manners, but the presence of Flora restrained me. Since the girl was determined, I was forced to give in to her and we started at once, getting away before my sister was able to fire off any more pronouncements beginning with her favourite words, ‘Of course.’ An old woman with an immense Breton cap opened the door of The Larches to us. M. Poirot was at home, it seemed.
We were ushered into a little sitting-room arranged with formal precision, and there, after a lapse of a minute or so, my friend of yesterday came to us.
‘Monsieur Ie docteur,’ he said, smiling. ‘Mademoiselle.’ He bowed to Flora.
‘Perhaps,’ I began, ‘you have heard of the tragedy which occurred last night.’ His face grew grave.
‘But certainly I have heard. It is horrible. I offer mademoiselle all my sympathy. In what way can I serve you?’ ‘Miss Ackroyd,’ I said, ‘wants you to - to ‘ ‘To find the murderer,’ said Flora in a clear voice.
‘I see,’ said the little man. ‘But the police will do that, will they not?’ ‘They might make a mistake,’ said Flora. ‘They are on their way to make a mistake now, I think. Please, M.
Poirot, won’t you help us? If- if it is a question of money -’ Poirot held up his hand.
‘Not that, I beg of you, mademoiselle. Not that I do not care for money.’ His eyes showed a momentary twinkle.
‘Money, it means much to me and always has done. No, if I go into this, you must understand one thing clearly. I shall go through with it to the end. The good dog, he does not leave the scent, remember! You may wish that, after all, you had left it to the local
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