The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

‘Quite natural,’ said Blunt. ‘Never saw your uncle until two years ago, did you? can’t be expected to grieve very much. Much better to have no humbug about it.’

‘There’s something awfully consoling about you,’ said Flora. ‘You make things seem so simple.’

‘Things are simple as a rule,’ said the big-game hunter.

‘Not always,’ said Flora.

Her voice had lowered itself, and I saw Blunt turn and look at her, bringing his eyes back from (apparently) the coast of Africa to do so. He evidently put his own construction on her change of tone, for he said, after a minute or two, in rather an abrupt manner:

‘I say, you know, you mustn’t worry. About that young chap, I mean. Inspector’s an ass. everybody knows – utterly absurd to think he could have done it. Man from outside. Burglar chap. That’s the only possible solution.’

Flora turned to look at him.

‘You really think so?’

‘Don’t you?’ said Blunt quickly.

‘I – oh, yes, of course.’

Another silence, and then Flora burst out:

‘I’m – I’ll tell you why I felt so happy this morning. however heartless you think me, I’d rather tell you. It’s because the lawyer has been – Mr Hammond. He told us about the will. Uncle Roger has left me twenty thousand pounds. Think of it – twenty thousand beautiful pounds.’

Blunt looked surprised.

‘Does it mean so much to you?’

‘Mean much to me? Why, it’s everything. freedom – life- no more scheming and scraping and lying-’

‘Lying?’ said Blunt, sharply interrupting.

Flora seemed taken aback for a minute.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Pretending to be thankful for all the nasty cast-off things rich relations give you. Last year’s coat and skirts and hats.’

‘Don’t know much about ladies’ clothes; should have said you were always very well turned out.’

‘It cost me something, though,’ said Flora in a low voice. ‘Don’t let’s talk of horrid things. I’m so happy. I’m free. free to do what I like. free not to-’

She stopped suddenly.

‘Not to what?’ asked Blunt quickly.

‘I forget now. Nothing important.’

Blunt had a stick in his hand, and he thrust it into the pond, poking at something.

‘What are you doing, Major Blunt?’

‘There’s something bright down there. Wondered what it was – looks like a gold brooch. Now I’ve stirred up the mud and it’s gone.’

‘Perhaps it’s a crown,’ suggested Flora. ‘Like the one Melisande saw in the water.’

‘Melisande,’ said Blunt reflectively-‘she’s in an opera, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, you seem to know a lot about operas.’

‘People take me sometimes,’ said Blunt sadly. ‘Funny idea of pleasure – worse racket than the natives make with their tom-toms.’

Flora laughed.

‘I remember Melisande,’ continued Blunt, ‘married an old chap old enough to be her father.’

He threw a small piece of flint into the goldfish pond. Then, with a change of manner, he turned to Flora.

‘Miss Ackroyd, can I do anything? About Paton, I mean. I know how dreadfully anxious you must be.’

‘Thank you,’ said Flora in a cold voice. ‘There is really nothing to be done. ralph will be all right. I’ve got hold of the most wonderful detective in the world, and he’s going to find out all about it.’

For some time I had felt uneasy as to our position. We were not exactly eavesdropping, since the two in the garden below had only to lift their heads to see us. Nevertheless, I should have drawn attention to our presence before now, had not my companion put a warning pressure on my arm. clearly he wished me to remain silent. Now, however, he acted briskly. He rose quickly to his feet, clearing his throat.

‘I demand pardon,’ he cried. ‘I cannot allow mademoiselle thus extravagantly to compliment me, and not draw attention to my presence. They say the listener hears no good of himself, but that is not the case this time. To spare my blushes, I must join you and apologize.’

He hurried down the path with me close behind him, and joined the others by the pond.

‘This is M. Hercule Poirot,’ said Flora. ‘I expect you’ve heard of him.’

Poirot bowed.

‘I know Major Blunt by reputation,’ he said politely. ‘I am glad to have encountered you, monsieur. I am in need of some information that you can give me.’

Blunt looked at him inquiringly.

‘When did you last see M. Ackroyd alive?’

‘At dinner.’

‘And you neither saw nor heard anything of him after that?’

‘Didn’t see him. Heard his voice.’

‘How was that?’

‘I strolled out on the terrace-’

‘Pardon me, what time was that?’

‘About half-past nine. I was walking up and down smoking in front of the drawing-room window. I heard Ackroyd talking in his study-’