'Flora!' cried her mother, aghast.
Flora had turned to the secretary.
'Will you send an announcement to the Morning Post. And The Times, please, Mr Raymond.' 'If you are sure that it is wise. Miss Ackroyd,' he replied gravely.
She turned impulsively to Blunt.
'You understand,' she said. 'What else can I do? As things are, I must stand by Ralph. Don't you see that I must?' She looked very searchingly at him, and after a long pause he nodded abruptly.
Mrs Ackroyd burst out into shrill protests. Flora remained unmoved. Then Raymond spoke.
'I appreciate your motives. Miss Ackroyd. But don't you think you're being rather precipitate? Wait a day or two.' 'Tomorrow,' said Flora in a clear voice. 'It's no good, Mother, going on like this. Whatever else I am, I'm not disloyal to my friends.' 'M. Poirot,' Mrs Ackroyd appealed tearfully. 'Can't you say anything at all?' 'Nothing to be said,' interpolated Blunt. 'She's doing the right thing. I'll stand by her through thick and thin.' Flora held out her hand to him.
'Thank you. Major Blunt,' she said.
'Mademoiselle,' said Poirot, 'will you let an old man congratulate you on your courage and your loyalty? And will you not misunderstand me if I ask you - ask you most solemnly - to postpone the announcement you speak of for at least two days more?' Flora hesitated.
'I ask it in Ralph Paton's interests as much as in yours, mademoiselle. You frown. You do not see how that can be.
But I assure you that it is so. Pas de blagues. You put the case into my hands - you must not hamper me now.' Flora paused a few minutes before replying.
'I do not like it,' she said at last, 'but I will do what you say.' She sat down again at the table.
'And now, messieurs et mesdames,' said Poirot rapidly 'I will continue with what I was about to say. Understand this I mean to arrive at the truth. The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it. I am much aged, my powers may not be what they were.' Here he clearly expected a contradiction. 'In all probability this is the last case I shall ever investigate. But Hercule Poirot does not end with a failure. Messieurs et mesdames, I tell you, I mean to know. And I shall know - in spite of you all.' He brought out the last words provocatively, hurling them in our face as it were. I think we all flinched back a little, excepting Geoffrey Raymond, who remained goodhumoured and imperturbable as usual.
'How do you mean - in spite of us all?' he asked, with slightly raised eyebrows.
'But - just that, monsieur. Every one of you in this room is concealing something from me.' He raised his hand as a faint murmur of protest arose. 'Yes, yes, I know what I am saying. It may be something unimportant - trivial - which is supposed to have no bearing on the case, but there it is.
Each one of you has something to hide. Come now, am I right?' His glance, challenging and accusing, swept round the table. And every pair of eyes dropped before his. Yes, mine as well.
'I am answered,' said Poirot, with a curious laugh. He got up from his seat. 'I appeal to you all. Tell me the truth - the whole truth.' There was a silence. 'Will no one speak?' He gave the same short laugh again.
'C'est dommage,' he said, and went out.
Chapter 12. The Goose Quill
That evening, at Poirot's request, I went over to his house after dinner. Caroline saw me depart with visible reluctance.
I think she would have liked to have accompanied me.
Poirot greeted me hospitably. He had placed a bottle of Irish whiskey (which I detest) on a small table, with a soda water siphon and a glass. He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a favourite beverage of his, I discovered later.
He inquired politely after my sister, whom he declared to be a most interesting woman.
'I'm afraid you've been giving her a swelled head,' I said drily. 'What about Sunday afternoon?' He laughed and twinkled.
'I always like to employ the expert,' he remarked obscurely, but he refused to explain the remark.
'You got all the local gossip anyway,' I remarked. 'True, and untrue.' 'And a great deal of valuable information,' he added quietly.
'Such as-' He shook his head.
'Why not have told me the truth?' he countered. 'In a place like this, all Ralph Paton's doings were bound to be known. If your sister had not happened to pass through the wood that day somebody else would have done so.' 'I suppose they would,' I said grumpily. 'What about this interest of yours in my patients?' Again he twinkled.
'Only one of them, doctor. Only one of them.' 'The last?' I hazarded.
He held out to me the little quill. I looked at it curiously.
Then a memory of something I had read stirred in me.
Poirot, who had been watching my face, nodded.
'Yes, heroin, "snow." Drug-takers carry it like this, and sniff it up the nose.' 'Diamorphine hydrochloride,' I murmured mechanically.
'This method of taking the drug is very common on the other side. Another proof, if we wanted one, that the man came from Canada or the States.' 'What first attracted your attention to that summerhouse?' I asked curiously.
'My friend the inspector took it for granted that anyone using that path did so as a short cut to the house, but as soon as I saw the summer-house, I realized that the same path would be taken by anyone using the summer-house as a rendezvous. Now it seems fairly certain that the stranger came neither to the front nor to the back door. Then did someone from the house go out and meet him? If so, what could be a more convenient place than that little summerhouse?
I searched it with the hope that I might find some clue inside. I found two, the scrap of cambric and the quill.' 'And the scrap of cambric?' I asked curiously. 'What about that?' Poirot raised his eyebrows.
'You do not use your little grey cells,' he remarked drily.
'The scrap of starched cambric should be obvious.' 'Not very obvious to me.' I changed the subject. 'Anyway,' I said, 'this man went to the summer-house to meet somebody. Who was that somebody?' 'Exactly the question,' said Poirot. 'You will remember that Mrs Ackroyd and her daughter came over from Canada to live here?' 'Is that what you meant today when you accused them of hiding the truth?' 'Perhaps. Now another point. What did you think of the parlourmaid's story?' 'What story?' 'The story of her dismissal. Does it take half an hour to dismiss a servant? Was the story of those important papers a likely one? And remember, though she says she was in her bedroom from nine-thirty until ten o'clock, there is no one to confirm her statement.' 'You bewilder me,' I said.
'To me it grows clearer. But tell me now your own ideas and theories.' I drew a piece of paper from my pocket.
'I just scribbled down a few suggestions,' I said apologetically.
'But excellent - you have method. Let us hear them.' I read out in a somewhat embarrassed voice.
'To begin with, one must look at the thing logically ' 'Just what my poor Hastings used to say,' interrupted Poirot, 'but alas! he never did so.' 'Point No. 1. - Mr Ackroyd was heard talking to someone at half-past nine.
'Point No. 2. - At some time during the evening Ralph Paton must have come in through the window, as evidenced by the prints of his shoes.
'Point No. 3. - Mr Ackroyd was nervous that evening, and would only have admitted someone he knew.