Roger Mystery

Chapter 10 Murder (1)
I left home in a hurry and sped toward Finley Park.I jumped out before the car stopped and rushed to ring the doorbell.No one answered the door for a long time, so I pressed it twice again.

Then the door chain rattled, and Parker appeared at the door, still with that indifferent expression.

I pushed him away and rushed into the vestibule.

"Where is he?" I demanded sharply.

"What do you say, sir?"

"Your master, Mr Ackroyd. Don't just stand there and stare, man, have you called the police?"

"The police, sir? Do you mean the police?" Parker stared at me like he'd seen a ghost.

"What are you up to, Parker? If it's true, as you say, your master was murdered—"

Parker gasped.

"My master? Murdered? Impossible, sir!"

This time it was my turn to stare blankly.

"Didn't you call me just now? Less than 5 minutes ago, you said that Aykroyd was found murdered."

"Me, sir? Oh! No such thing, sir. I wouldn't dream of calling like that."

"Is it a prank? Mr. Ackroyd is safe and sound?"

"Excuse me sir, is the caller using my name?"

"I can repeat it verbatim. 'Is this Dr. Shepard? This is Parker, the steward of Finley Park. Could you please come over at once, sir, Mr. Ackroyd has been murdered.'"

Parker and I looked at each other.

"It's a wicked person to make jokes like that, sir," he said after a long time, in astonishment, "to talk such nonsense."

"And Mr. Ackroyd?" I asked suddenly.

"Still in the study, I suppose, sir. The ladies are in bed, and Major Brant and Mr. Raymond are in the pool-room."

"I'd better go and have a look," I said. "I know he doesn't want to be bothered, but this prank is so weird it's making me restless. I can only rest assured that he's all right."

"You're right, sir. I'm a little worried myself. If you don't mind, I'll go to the study too—"

"It's okay," I didn't care so much, "Let's go."

I went through the door on the right, followed by Parker, through a narrow hallway with a small staircase leading to Ackroyd's bedroom.I knocked on the door of the study.

no respond.I turned the doorknob, but the door was locked.

"Let me do it, sir," Parker said.

Parker knelt on one knee and peered in with one eye over the keyhole, a series of movements that were quite neat for his size.

"The key is well in the lock, sir," he rose, "and locked from the inside. Mr. Ackroyd must have locked himself in and slept."

I also leaned over and took a look, proving that Parker was right.

"It seems that nothing is wrong." I breathed a sigh of relief, "But having said that, Parker, you still have to wake up your master. Unless he personally proves that he is safe, I still can't rest assured to go back."

I shook the doorknob while talking, and shouted loudly: "Ackroyd, Ackroyd, I will disturb you for a minute!"

But there was still no movement in the house.I looked back.

"I don't want to alarm my family." I hesitated.

Parker went over and closed the door leading to the hall through which we had just entered.

"No one should be able to hear you now, sir. The pool room is on the other side of the house, as are the dining room and the ladies' bedrooms."

I understood what he meant, nodded, and then slammed the door hard, then bent down and shouted at the keyhole: "Ackroyd, Ackroyd! I'm Shepard, let me in!"

But the room remained dead silent.There was no living person inside the locked door at all.Parker and I looked at each other.

"Listen, Parker," I said, "I'm going to bang the door down—or we're going to bang the door down together. I'm going to pay the consequences."

"You are not joking, sir." Parker was full of doubts.

"I mean it. I'm very concerned about Mr Ackroyd."

I looked around the cramped porch and picked up a heavy oak chair.Parker and I picked up the chairs on the left and right, aimed at the door lock and slammed it.Once, twice, and the third time it finally broke open, and the two of us staggered into the room.

Ackroyd was still sitting in the armchair in front of the fire, as I had left.His head was on one side, and just under the collar of his coat a shiny sword gleamed coldly.

Parker and I walked over to the reclining body.The butler gasped and let out a sharp exclamation.

"It was stabbed in the back," he said to himself. "It's terrible!"

He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, and stretched his hand tremblingly towards the hilt of his sword.

"Don't touch it," I hurriedly stopped, "Call the police station immediately, tell them the situation here, and then notify Mr. Raymond and Major Brant."

"I listen to you, sir."

Parker left in a hurry, constantly wiping the cold sweat that was pouring out of his forehead.

I did the little things I had to do.I was careful not to move the corpse, and I didn't touch the dagger at all.Otherwise there would be no clues.Ackroyd had apparently just died.

Then came the young Raymond's voice mixed with fear, panic and doubt outside the door.

"What did you say? Impossible! Where is the doctor?"

He appeared at the door very anxiously, then froze on the spot, his face pale.Hector Brant pushed him aside and entered the room.

"My God!" Raymond said behind Brant, "it seems to be true."

Brant went straight to the armchair and leaned over the body.I thought he would reach out to touch the hilt of the sword like Parker did, and quickly pulled him aside.

"Touch nothing," I explained. "Leave the scene as it is until the police arrive."

Brent suddenly realized and nodded.His expression was still calm, but under that calm and numb mask, his mood seemed to be fluctuating rapidly.Geoffrey Raymond came up beside us and peered over Brant's shoulder at the body.

"It's horrible," he whispered.

He had regained his composure, but his hands were trembling as he took off his usual pince-nez to wipe it.

"I think it was a thief," he said. "How did that guy get in? Through a window? Was something stolen?"

He walked to the desk.

"You think a thief came in?" I asked slowly.

"Otherwise, what else? It wouldn't be suicide, would it?"

"No one can commit suicide in that way," I replied emphatically. "It is undoubtedly murder. But what is the motive?"

"Roger has no enemies in the world," Brant said quietly. "It must have been the thief. But what is the thief looking for? Nothing seems to have been messed up?"

He looked around the room. Raymond was still sorting out the papers on his desk.

"Nothing seems to be missing, and the drawers have not been turned over," said the secretary at last. "It's incredible."

Brandt shook his head slightly.

"There are some letters on the ground," he said.

I looked down and saw that the three or four letters were still in the same places where Ackroyd had slipped earlier in the evening.

But Mrs. Ferrars' blue envelope had disappeared.Before I could open my mouth, I heard the doorbell rang loudly, and there was a lot of noise in the lobby. Immediately, Parker led the local superintendent and a policeman in.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the Inspector. "My condolences! What a pity Mr. Ackroyd is such a good man. The steward says murder. Doctor, is there no possibility of accident or suicide?"

"No way," I said.

"Ah! What a headache."

He stepped forward and looked at the body.

"Have you ever moved?" he asked sternly.

"After confirming that he was dead - and that's what it was - I never let anyone touch the body again."

"Ah! And all clues to the murderer have now disappeared, at least for the time being. So, please tell me what happened. Who found the body?"

I have described the cause and effect in detail.

"You received a call? The housekeeper called you?"

"I never made that call," Parker hastily defended. "I didn't even step up to the phone all night. Others can testify for me."

"That's weird. Does that sound like Parker on the phone, doctor?"

"Well... I didn't pay attention to that. Hey, I took it for granted that it was him."

"That's quite reasonable. Well, then you came, broke in, and found poor Mr. Ackroyd in this condition. How long, in your judgement, doctor, has he been dead?"

"At least half an hour—maybe longer," I said.

"Does the door lock from the inside? Where are the windows?"

"Earlier this evening, at the behest of Mr. Ackroyd, I closed and bolted the window myself."

The Inspector strode to the window and drew back the curtains.

"Well, but the window is open now," he said.

True enough, the window was wide open, with the panes in the lower half drawn up to the top.

The inspector took out his flashlight and shone it along the outer ledge.

"This is where he went out," he concluded, "and this is where he came in. Come and see here."

Under the bright light of the flashlight, several clear shoe prints could not be hidden.These shoe prints look like those left by shoes with rubber studs, one of which is particularly obvious, facing inward, and the other slightly overlapping it, facing outward.

"It's clear," said the inspector. "Has anything of value been lost?"

Jeffrey Raymond shook his head.

"No discovery so far. Mr. Ackroyd never kept anything of particular value in this room."

"Well," said the Inspector, "the fellow found the window open, and crept in, and saw Mr. Ackroyd sitting there—sleeping, I suppose. The murderer stabbed him in the back, and for a moment panicked, Run away quickly. But he left a fairly clear shoe print. We can catch him without difficulty. Is there any suspicious stranger in this area?"

"Ah!" I suddenly shouted out.

(End of this chapter)