The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Agatha Christie (e book free reading TXT) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âMy dear Poirot,â I said in a voice that sounded strange and forced to my own ears, âyouâve been brooding over this case too long. What on earth had I to gain by murdering Ackroyd?â
âSafety. It was you who blackmailed Mrs. Ferrars. Who could have had a better knowledge of what killed Mr. Ferrars than the doctor who was attending him? When you spoke to me that first day in the garden, you mentioned a legacy received about a year ago. I have been unable to discover any trace of a legacy. You had to invent some way of accounting for Mrs. Ferrarsâs twenty thousand pounds. It has not done you much good. You lost most of it in speculationâ âthen you put the screw on too hard, and Mrs. Ferrars took a way out that you had not expected. If Ackroyd had learnt the truth he would have had no mercy on youâ âyou were ruined forever.â
âAnd the telephone call?â I asked, trying to rally. âYou have a plausible explanation of that also, I suppose?â
âI will confess to you that it was my greatest stumbling block when I found that a call had actually been put through to you from Kingâs Abbot station. I at first believed that you had simply invented the story. It was a very clever touch, that. You must have some excuse for arriving at Fernly, finding the body, and so getting the chance to remove the dictaphone on which your alibi depended. I had a very vague notion of how it was worked when I came to see your sister that first day and inquired as to what patients you had seen on Friday morning. I had no thought of Miss Russell in my mind at that time. Her visit was a lucky coincidence, since it distracted your mind from the real object of my questions. I found what I was looking for. Among your patients that morning was the steward of an American liner. Who more suitable than he to be leaving for Liverpool by the train that evening? And afterwards he would be on the high seas, well out of the way. I noted that the Orion sailed on Saturday, and having obtained the name of the steward I sent him a wireless message asking a certain question. This is his reply you saw me receive just now.â
He held out the message to me. It ran as follows:
âQuite correct. Dr. Sheppard asked me to leave a note at a patientâs house. I was to ring him up from the station with the reply. Reply was âNo answer.âââ
âIt was a clever idea,â said Poirot. âThe call was genuine. Your sister saw you take it. But there was only one manâs word as to what was actually saidâ âyour own!â
I yawned. âAll this,â I said, âis very interestingâ âbut hardly in the sphere of practical politics.â
âYou think not? Remember what I saidâ âthe truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the morning. But, for the sake of your good sister, I am willing to give you the chance of another way out. There might be, for instance, an overdose of a sleeping draught. You comprehend me? But Captain Ralph Paton must be clearedâ âça va sans dire. I should suggest that you finish that very interesting manuscript of yoursâ âbut abandoning your former reticence.â
âYou seem to be very prolific of suggestions,â I remarked. âAre you sure youâve quite finished?â
âNow that you remind me of the fact, it is true that there is one thing more. It would be most unwise on your part to attempt to silence me as you silenced M. Ackroyd. That kind of business does not succeed against Hercule Poirot, you understand.â
âMy dear Poirot,â I said, smiling a little, âwhatever else I may be, I am not a fool.â
I rose to my feet.
âWell, well,â I said, with a slight yawn, âI must be off home. Thank you for a most interesting and instructive evening.â
Poirot also rose and bowed with his accustomed politeness as I passed out of the room.
XXVII ApologiaFive a.m. I am very tiredâ âbut I have finished my task. My arm aches from writing.
A strange end to my manuscript. I meant it to be published some day as the history of one of Poirotâs failures! Odd, how things pan out.
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