The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Agatha Christie (e book free reading TXT) 📖

with us,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “You know Major Blunt, Mr. Hammond? And dear Doctor Sheppard⁠—also a close friend of poor Roger’s. And, let me see⁠—”

She paused, surveying Hercule Poirot in some perplexity.

“This is M. Poirot, Mother,” said Flora. “I told you about him this morning.”

“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Ackroyd vaguely. “Of course, my dear, of course. He is to find Ralph, is he not?”

“He is to find out who killed uncle,” said Flora.

“Oh! my dear,” cried her mother. “Please! My poor nerves. I am a wreck this morning, a positive wreck. Such a dreadful thing to happen. I can’t help feeling that it must have been an accident of some kind. Roger was so fond of handling queer curios. His hand must have slipped, or something.”

This theory was received in polite silence. I saw Poirot edge up to the lawyer, and speak to him in a confidential undertone. They moved aside into the embrasure of the window. I joined them⁠—then hesitated.

“Perhaps I’m intruding,” I said.

“Not at all,” cried Poirot heartily. “You and I, M. le docteur, we investigate this affair side by side. Without you I should be lost. I desire a little information from the good Mr. Hammond.”

“You are acting on behalf of Captain Ralph Paton, I understand,” said the lawyer cautiously.

Poirot shook his head. “Not so. I am acting in the interests of justice. Miss Ackroyd has asked me to investigate the death of her uncle.”

Mr. Hammond seemed slightly taken aback. “I cannot seriously believe that Captain Paton can be concerned in this crime,” he said, “however strong the circumstantial evidence against him may be. The mere fact that he was hard pressed for money⁠—”

“Was he hard pressed for money?” interpolated Poirot quickly.

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “It was a chronic condition with Ralph Paton,” he said dryly. “Money went through his hands like water. He was always applying to his stepfather.”

“Had he done so of late? During the last year, for instance?”

“I cannot say. Mr. Ackroyd did not mention the fact to me.”

“I comprehend. Mr. Hammond, I take it that you are acquainted with the provisions of Mr. Ackroyd’s will?”

“Certainly. That is my principal business here today.”

“Then, seeing that I am acting for Miss Ackroyd, you will not object to telling me the terms of that will?”

“They are quite simple. Shorn of legal phraseology, and after paying certain legacies and bequests⁠—”

“Such as⁠—?” interrupted Poirot.

Mr. Hammond seemed a little surprised.

“A thousand pounds to his housekeeper, Miss Russell; fifty pounds to the cook, Emma Cooper; five hundred pounds to his secretary, Mr. Geoffrey Raymond. Then to various hospitals⁠—”

Poirot held up his hand. “Ah! the charitable bequests, they interest me not.”

“Quite so. The income on ten thousand pounds’ worth of shares to be paid to Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd during her lifetime. Miss Flora Ackroyd inherits twenty thousand pounds outright. The residue⁠—including this property, and the shares in Ackroyd and Son⁠—to his adopted son, Ralph Paton.”

“Mr. Ackroyd possessed a large fortune?”

“A very large fortune. Captain Paton will be an exceedingly wealthy young man.”

There was a silence. Poirot and the lawyer looked at each other.

“Mr. Hammond,” came Mrs. Ackroyd’s voice plaintively from the fireplace.

The lawyer answered the summons. Poirot took my arm and drew me right into the window.

“Regard the irises,” he remarked in a rather loud voice. “Magnificent, are they not? A straight and pleasing effect.”

At the same time I felt the pressure of his hand on my arm, and he added in a low tone: “Do you really wish to aid me? To take part in this investigation?”

“Yes, indeed,” I said eagerly. “There’s nothing I should like better. You don’t know what a dull old fogey’s life I lead. Never anything out of the ordinary.”

“Good, we will be colleagues then. In a minute or two I fancy Major Blunt will join us. He is not happy with the good mamma. Now there are some things I want to know⁠—but I do not wish to seem to want to know them. You comprehend? So it will be your part to ask the questions.”

“What questions do you want me to ask?” I asked apprehensively.

“I want you to introduce the name of Mrs. Ferrars.”

“Yes?”

“Speak of her in a natural fashion. Ask him if he was down here when her husband died. You understand the kind of thing I mean. And while he replies, watch his face without seeming to watch it. C’est compris?”

There was no time for more, for at that minute, as Poirot had prophesied, Blunt left the others in his abrupt fashion and came over to us.

I suggested strolling on the terrace, and he acquiesced. Poirot stayed behind.

I stopped to examine a late rose.

“How things change in the course of a day or two,” I observed. “I was up here last Wednesday, I remember, walking up and down this same terrace. Ackroyd was with me⁠—full of spirits. And now⁠—three days later⁠—Ackroyd’s dead, poor fellow. Mrs. Ferrar’s dead⁠—you knew her, didn’t you? But of course you did.”

Blunt nodded his head.

“Had you seen her since you’d been down this time?”

“Went with Ackroyd to call. Last Tuesday, think it was. Fascinating woman⁠—but something queer about her. Deep⁠—one would never know what she was up to.”

I looked into his steady grey eyes. Nothing there surely. I went on:

“I suppose you’d met her before?”

“Last time I was here⁠—she and her husband had just come here to live.” He paused a minute and then added: “Rum thing, she had changed a lot between then and now.”

“How⁠—changed?” I asked.

“Looked ten years older.”

“Were you down here when her husband died?” I asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

“No. From all I heard it would be good riddance. Uncharitable, perhaps, but the truth.”

I agreed.

“Ashley Ferrars was by no means a pattern husband,” I said cautiously.

“Blackguard, I thought,” said Blunt.

“No,” I said, “only a man with more money than was good for him.”

“Oh! money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money⁠—or the lack of it.”

“Which has been your particular trouble?” I asked.

“I’ve enough for what I want. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m not too flush