The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда. Агата Кристи
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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.
‘Have you?’ I said. ‘Miss Gannett drop in to tea?’
Miss Gannett is one of the chief of our news-mongers.
‘Guess again,’ said Caroline, with intense complacency.
I guessed several times, working slowly through all the members of Caroline’s Intelligence corps. My sister received each guess with a triumphant shake of the head. In the end she volunteered the information herself.
‘M. Poirot!’ she said. ‘Now, what do you think of that?’
I thought a good many things of it, but I was careful not to say them to Caroline.
‘Why did he come?’ I asked.
‘To see me, of course. He said that, knowing my brother so well, he hoped he might be permitted to make the acquaintance of his charming sister – your charming sister, I’ve got mixed up – but you know what I mean.’
‘What did he talk about?’ I asked.
‘He told me a lot about himself and his cases. You know that Prince Paul of Mauretania – the one who’s just married a dancer?’
‘Yes?’
‘I saw a most intriguing paragraph about her in Society Snippets the other day, hinting that she was really a russian grand duchess – one of the czar’s daughters who managed to escape from the Bolsheviks. Well, it seems that M. Poirot solved a baffling murder mystery that threatened to involve them both. Prince Paul was beside himself with gratitude.’
‘Did he give him an emerald tie pin the size of a plover’s egg?’ I inquired sarcastically.
‘He didn’t mention it. Why?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I thought it was always done. It is in detective fiction anyway. The super-detective always has his rooms littered with rubies and pearls and emeralds from grateful royal clients.’
‘It’s very interesting to hear about these things from the inside,’ said my sister complacently.
It would be – to Caroline. I could not but admire the ingenuity of M. Hercule Poirot, who had selected unerringly the case of all others that would most appeal to an elderly lady living in a small village.
‘Did he tell you if the dancer was really a grand duchess?’ I inquired.
‘He was not at liberty to speak,’ said Caroline importantly.
I wondered how far Poirot had strained the truth in talking to Caroline – probably not at all. he had conveyed his innuendoes by means of his eyebrows and his shoulders.
‘And after all this,’ I remarked, ‘I suppose you were ready to eat out of his hand?’
‘Don’t be coarse, James. I don’t know where you get these vulgar expressions from.’
‘Probably from my only link with the outside world – my patients. unfortunately, my practice does not lie amongst royal princes and interesting russian émigrés.’
Caroline pushed her spectacles up and looked at me.
‘You seem very grumpy, James. It must be your liver. A blue pill, I think, tonight.’
To see me in my own home, you would never imagine that I was a doctor of medicine. Caroline does the home prescribing both for herself and me.
‘Damn my liver,’ I said irritably. ‘Did you talk about the murder at all?’
‘Well, naturally, James. What else is there to talk about locally? I was able to set M. Poirot straight upon several points. he was very grateful to me. he said I had the makings of a born detective in me – and a wonderful psychological insight into human nature.’
Caroline was exactly like a cat that is full to over-flowing with rich cream. She was positively purring.
‘He talked a lot about the little grey cells of the brain, and of their functions. His own, he says, are of the first quality.’
‘He would say so,’ I remarked bitterly. ‘Modesty is certainly not his middle name.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t be so horribly American, James. he thought it very important that ralph should be found as soon as possible, and induced to come forward and give an account of himself. he says that his disappearance will produce a very unfortunate impression at the inquest.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘I agreed with him,’ said Caroline importantly. ‘And I was able to tell him the way people were talking already about it.’
‘Caroline,’ I said sharply, ‘did you tell M. Poirot what you overheard in the wood that day?’
‘I did,’ said Caroline complacently.
I got up and began to walk about.
‘You realize what you’re doing, I hope,’ I jerked out. ‘you’re putting a halter round ralph Paton’s neck as surely as you’re sitting in that chair.’
‘Not at all,’ said Caroline, quite unruffled. ‘I was surprised you hadn’t told him.’
‘I took very good care not to,’ I said. ‘I’m fond of that boy.’
‘So am I. That’s why I say you’re talking nonsense. I don’t believe ralph did it, and so the truth can’t hurt him, and we ought to give M. Poirot all the help we can. Why, think, very likely ralph was out with that identical girl on the night of the murder, and if so, he’s got a perfect alibi.’
‘If he’s got a perfect alibi,’ I retorted, ‘why doesn’t he come forward and say so?’
‘Might get the girl into trouble,’ said Caroline sapiently. ‘But if M. Poirot gets hold of her, and puts it to her as her duty, she’ll come forward of her own accord and clear Ralph.’
‘You seem to have invented a romantic fairy story of your own,’ I said. ‘you read too many trashy novels, Caroline. I’ve always told you so.’ I dropped into my chair again. ‘Did Poirot ask you any more questions?’ I inquired.
‘Only about the patients you had that morning.’
‘The patients?’ I demanded, unbelievingly.
‘Yes, your surgery patients. How many and who they were.’
‘Do you mean to say you were able to tell him that?’ I demanded.
Caroline is really amazing.
‘Why not?’ asked my sister triumphantly. ‘I can see the path up to the surgery door perfectly from this window. And I’ve got an excellent memory, James. Much better than yours, let me tell you.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ I murmured mechanically.
My sister went on, checking the names on her fingers.
‘There was old Mrs Bennett, and that boy from the farm with the bad finger, Dolly Grice to have a needle out of her finger; that American steward off the liner. Let me see – that’s four. Yes, and old George Evans with his ulcer. And lastly-’
She paused significantly.
‘Well?’
Caroline brought out her climax triumphantly. She hissed it in the most approved style – aided by the fortunate number of s’s at her disposal.
‘Miss Russell!’
She