Roger Mystery

Chapter 24 Mrs Ackroyd (2)
She gave me a sideways look.The atmosphere at the moment is quite delicate.Fortunately, the right use of language can cast a fig leaf over the ugly truth.

"I can only say these things to you, my dear Dr. Sheppard," said Mrs. Ackroyd hastily, "I trust you will not misunderstand me, and M. Poirot has a few words of kindness for you. It was Friday afternoon—"

She swallowed, and became hesitant again.

"Well," I urged, "Friday afternoon. And then?"

"There was no one in the house—at least I thought everyone was out. I went into Roger's study—with good reason—I mean, there was nothing shameful about it. When I saw the papers piled on the desk , I suddenly thought: "I wonder if Roger will put the will in the desk drawer." I have been impulsive since I was a child, and I do things without thinking. There is still a key in the lock of the top drawer-this is too careless gone."

"Got it," I agreed, "so you rummaged through your desk. Did you find the will?"

Mrs. Ackroyd let out a soft cry, and I realized that this was not tactful.

"It sounds terrible, and it's not what you say it is at all."

"Of course not," I quickly remedied, "I'm outspoken, don't mind."

"It's not surprising, men, everything is unreasonable. If I were my dear Roger, I wouldn't keep the will so tight. But men like to sneak around. When people are pushed, it is inevitable to find a way." to protect yourself."

"So did your idea work?" I asked.

"I was about to say this. When I opened the bottom drawer, Bourne came in. It was an embarrassing scene. Of course, I immediately closed the drawer and stood up, and told her to dust the table carefully. But I don't like her." The way you look at people—respectful, but vicious and contemptuous. I didn't like that girl very much. She was a good servant, and she could call 'Ma'am' and wear a hat and an apron. (I tell you, working girls don't like to wear them very much these days); if she answers Parker's door, she can answer 'the master is not in'; and she is not like the other parlor maids, You don’t laugh casually when serving your master—let’s think about it, where did I just say that?”

"You said that you never liked Bourne, though she had many virtues."

"I don't like it at all. She's a little eccentric, not like the other servants. I think she seems too educated. These days, you can't tell who's a lady."

"And then?" I asked.

"Nothing. Eventually Roger came in, and I thought he was walking around the village. He asked, 'What's the matter?' and I said, 'Nothing, I've come to get the Clumsy.' And I picked up the Clumsy ’ and went out. Bourne was still in the house. I heard her ask Roger if I could talk to him. I went straight to my room and lay on the bed, feeling very uncomfortable.”

She paused again.

"You'll explain it to M. Poirot, won't you? You can see that such a small matter is not worth mentioning. But, of course, when he said fiercely that there was a concealment, I thought of it at once. Bourne could make up the most incredible story, but you'll explain it for me, won't you?"

"That's all?" I said. "Have you finished?"

"Yes . . . yes," said Mrs. Ackroyd, "oh! yes," she added firmly.

But her momentary hesitation couldn't escape my eyes, which shows that she still has some things to confess.With an idea, I asked again: "Mrs. Ackroyd, did you open the silver table?"

Her face was flushed with shame, and even makeup couldn't cover it.

"How do you know?" she asked quietly.

"So it's really you?"

"Yeah - I - oops - a piece or two of old silver in there - very interesting. I read an article that had a picture in it and it was such a small thing that it would sell at Christie's That's a lot of money. The one on the silver table looks exactly like the one in the picture, and I think I'll take it with me next time I go to London - er - to get an estimate. If it's worth anything at all, think about it , what a surprise it must be for Roger."

I resisted not interrupting, and listened to her babbling, without even asking her why she was so sneaky about getting things.

"Why didn't you cover the table?" I asked again, "Did you forget?"

"I was frightened," said Mrs. Ackroyd. "I heard footsteps on the terrace outside, and I hurried out of the room. As soon as I got upstairs, Parker opened the door and invited you in."

"That must be Miss Russell." I was lost in thought.Mrs Ackroyd reveals a very interesting fact.Whether it is true or false about Aykroyd's silver, I don't care anyway.What really aroused my interest was that Miss Russell must have entered the drawing-room through the French windows; and that she was out of breath, and must have just trotted, which confirmed my judgment.So where did she go before this?I immediately thought of the gazebo and the piece of silk.

"I wonder if Miss Russell's handkerchief has been starched?" I blurted out when I was excited.

Mrs. Ackroyd was taken aback, and I came back to my senses, and got up to go.

"You will explain it to M. Poirot?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh, sure, no problem."

She pestered me again, explaining in every possible way what she had done, and I finally left.

The parlor maid was in the hall and she helped me with my coat.I hadn't looked at her seriously until now, she had obviously just cried.

"Last time you said that Mr. Ackroyd asked you to go to the study on Friday. What happened?" I asked. "Now I hear that you actually took the initiative to talk to him."

She lowered her eyes and said after a while, "I'm going to get out of here anyway." But her tone was not so firm.

I said nothing.She opened the door for me, and just as I took a foot, she asked again in a low voice, "Excuse me, sir, is there any news about Captain Peyton?"

I shook my head and looked at her inquiringly.

"He should come back," she said, "really—he should come back."

She looked at me earnestly.

"No one knows his whereabouts?"

"You know what?" I asked sharply.

She shook her head. "No, I really don't know. I don't know anything. But as long as you are his friend, you should persuade him to come back quickly."

I didn't leave right away, thinking she might have something to say.But her next question took me by surprise.

"What time do they think the murder took place? Nearly ten o'clock?"

"Yes," I said, "between nine forty-five and ten."

"Could it be earlier? Wouldn't it be before nine forty-five?"

I watched her carefully, and she eagerly awaited an affirmative answer.

"Impossible," said I, "Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive and well at nine forty-five."

She turned away, as if all her strength had been lost.

"What a pretty girl," I said to myself as I drove away, "What a beautiful girl."

Caroline is at home.Poirot had just come to visit, and she was overjoyed, and felt herself to be more and more important.

"I'm helping him solve a case," she explained.

I am very disturbed.Caroline was already difficult to deal with, and if her detective instinct was provoked again, it was not known what would become of it.

"Are you going to track down the mysterious woman who talked to Ralph Paton?"

"I have my own methods for that kind of thing." Caroline said, "No, this time Mr. Poirot asked me to help him inquire about a special clue."

"What is it?" I asked.

"He wondered if Ralph Paton's boots were black or brown," said Caroline, very gravely.

I was dumbfounded.I found myself ignorant of the boot matter, and of what Poirot was up to.

"Brown shoes," I said, "I've seen them."

"Not shoes, James, but boots. M. Poirot wants to know whether the boots Ralph wore to the hotel were brown or black. The clue is of great importance."

You can say that I have a low IQ, but I can't see what's important.

"Then how do you check?" I asked her.

Caroline said it was a no-brainer.Our Anne's best friend, Clara, was Miss Gannett's maid, and Clara was dating Boots, who worked at The Three Boars, so it wasn't a big deal.Besides, Miss Gannett was generous and immediately gave Clara a vacation, so the matter was settled in the blink of an eye.

When we sat down to lunch, Caroline said with mock indifference: "Speaking of Ralph Paton's boots . . . "

"Well," I said, "what happened to the boots?"

"M. Poirot thought it was probably brown, but he was mistaken. It was black."

Caroline nodded several times, evidently thinking she had a round over Poirot.

I didn't answer.What color boots did Ralph Payton wear, and what does that have to do with the murders?I really can't figure it out.

(End of this chapter)