'Going out again?' I asked.
'Yes, we will pay a little visit to the good M. Hammond.' 'You believe Parker's story?' 'It is credible enough on the face of it. It seems clear that unless he is a very good actor indeed - he genuinely believes it was Ackroyd himself who was the victim of blackmail. If so, he knows nothing at all about the Mrs Ferrars business.' 'Then in that case - who -?' 'Precisement! Who? But our visit to M. Hammond will accomplish one purpose. It will either clear Parker completely or else ' 'Well?' 'I fall into the bad habit of leaving my sentences unfinished this morning,' said Poirot apologetically. 'You must bear with me.' 'By the way,' I said, rather sheepishly, 'I've got a confession to make. I'm afraid I have inadvertently let out something about that ring.' 'What ring?' 'The ring you found in the goldfish pond.' 'Ah! yes,' said Poirot, smiling broadly.
'I hope you're not annoyed? It was very careless of me.' 'But not at all, my good friend, not at all. I laid no commands upon you. You were at liberty to speak of it if you so wished. She was interested, your sister?' 'She was indeed. It created a sensation. All sorts of theories are flying about.' 'Ah! And yet it is so simple. The true explanation leapt to the eye, did it not?' 'Did it?' I said drily.
Poirot laughed.
'The wise man does not commit himself,' he observed. 'Is not that so? But here we are at Mr Hammond's.' The lawyer was in his office, and we were ushered in without any delay. He rose and greeted us in his dry, precise manner.
Poirot came at once to the point.
'Monsieur, I desire from you certain information, that is, if you will be so good as to give it to me. You acted, I understand, for the late Mrs Ferrars of King's Paddock?' I noticed the swift gleam of surprise which showed in the lawyer's eyes, before his professional reserve came down once more like a mask over his face.
'Certainly. All her affairs passed through our hands.' 'Very good. Now, before I ask you to tell me anything, I should like you to listen to the story Dr Sheppard will relate to you. You have no objection, have you, my friend, to repeating the conversation you had with Mr Ackroyd last Friday night?' 'Not in the least,' I said, and straightway began the recital of that strange evening.
Hammond listened with close attention.
'That is all,' I said, when I had finished.
'Blackmail,' said the lawyer thoughtfully.
'You are surprised?' asked Poirot.
The lawyer took off his pince-nez and polished them with his handkerchief.
'No,' he replied, 'I can hardly say that I am surprised. I have suspected something of the kind for some time.' 'That brings us,' said Poirot, 'to the information for which I am asking. If anyone can give us an idea of the actual sums paid, you are the man, monsieur.' 'I see no object in withholding the information,' said Hammond, after a moment or two. 'During the past year, Mrs Ferrars has sold out certain securities, and the money for them was paid into her account and not re-invested. As her income was a large one, and she lived very quietly after her husband's death, it seems certain that these sums of money were paid away for some special purpose. I once sounded her on the subject, and she said that she was obliged to support several of her husband's poor relations. I let the matter drop, of course. Until now, I have always imagined that the money was paid to some woman who had had a claim on Ashley Ferrars. I never dreamed that Mrs Ferrars herself was involved.' 'And the amount?' asked Poirot.
'In all, I should say the various sums totalled at least twenty thousand pounds.' 'Twenty thousand pounds!' I exclaimed. 'In one year!' 'Mrs Ferrars was a very wealthy woman,' said Poirot drily. 'And the penalty for murder is not a pleasant one.' 'Is there anything else that I can tell you?' inquired Mr Hammond.
'I thank you, no,' said Poirot, rising. 'All my excuses for having deranged you.' 'Not at all, not at all.' 'The word derange,' I remarked, when we were outside again, 'is applicable to mental disorder only.' 'Ah!' cried Poirot, 'never will my English be quite perfect. A curious language. I should then have said disarranged, n'est-ce pas?' 'Disturbed is the word you had in mind.' 'I thank you, my friend. The word exact, you are zealous for it. Eh bien, what about our friend Parker now? With twenty-thousand pounds in hand, would he have continued being a butler? Je ne pense pas. It is, of course, possible that he banked the money under another name, but I am disposed to believe he spoke the truth to us. If he is a scoundrel, he is a scoundrel on a mean scale. He has not the big ideas. That leaves us as a possibility, Raymond, or well - Major Blunt.' 'Surely not Raymond,' I objected. 'Since we know that he was desperately hard up for a matter of five hundred pounds.' 'That is what he says, yes.' 'And as to Hector Blunt ' 'I will tell you something as to the good Major Blunt,' interrupted Poirot. 'It is my business to make inquiries. I make them. Eh bien - that legacy of which he speaks, I have discovered that the amount of it was close upon twenty thousand pounds. What do you think of that?' I was so taken aback that I could hardly speak.
'It's impossible,' I said at last. 'A well-known man like Hector Blunt.' Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
'Who knows? At least he is a man with big ideas. I confess that I hardly see him as a blackmailer, but there is another possibility that you have not even considered.' 'What is that?' 'The fire, my friend. Ackroyd himself may have destroyed that letter, blue envelope and all, after you left him.' 'I hardly think that likely,' I said slowly. 'And yet - of course, it may be so. He might have changed his mind.' We had just arrived at my house, and on the spur of the moment I invited Poirot to come in and take pot luck.
I thought Caroline would be pleased with me, but it is hard to satisfy one's womenfolk. It appears that we were eating chops for lunch - the kitchen staff being regaled on tripe and onions. And two chops set before three people are productive of embarrassment.
But Caroline is seldom daunted for long. With magnificent mendacity, she explained to Poirot that although James laughed at her for doing so, she adhered strictly to a vegetarian diet. She descanted ecstatically on the delights of nut cutlets (which I am quite sure she has never tasted) and ate a Welsh rarebit with gusto and frequent cutting remarks as to the dangers of 'flesh' foods.
Afterwards, when we were sitting in front of the fire and smoking, Caroline attacked Poirot directly.
'Not found Ralph Paton yet?' she asked.
'Where should I find him, mademoiselle?' 'I thought, perhaps, you'd found him in Cranchester,' said Caroline, with intense meaning in her tone.
Poirot looked merely bewildered.
'In Cranchester? But why in Cranchester?' I enlightened him with a touch of malice.
'One of our ample staff of private detectives happened to see you in a car on the Cranchester road yesterday,' I explained.
Poirot's bewilderment vanished. He laughed heartily.
'Ah, that! A simple visit to the dentist, c'est tout. My tooth, it aches. I go there. My tooth, it is at once better. I think to return quickly. The dentist, he says No. Better to have it out. I argue. He insists. He has his way! That particular tooth, it will never ache again.' Caroline collapsed rather like a pricked balloon.
We fell to discussing Ralph Paton.
'A weak nature,' I insisted. 'But not a vicious one.' 'Ah!' said Poirot. 'But weakness, where does it end?' 'Exactly,' said Caroline. 'Take James here - weak as water, if I weren't about to look after him.' 'My dear Caroline,' I said irritably, 'can't you talk without dragging in personalities?' 'You are weak, James,' said Caroline, quite unmoved.
'I'm eight years older than you are - oh! I don't mind M. Poirot knowing that ' 'I should never have guessed it, mademoiselle,' said Poirot, with a gallant little bow.
'Eight years older. And I've always considered it my duty to look after you. With a bad bringing up. Heaven knows what mischief you might have got into by n
ow.' 'I might have married a beautiful adventuress,' I murmured, gazing at the ceiling, and blowing smoke rings.
'Adventuress!' said Caroline, with a snort. 'If we're talking of adventuresses ' She left the sentence unfinished.
'Well?' I said, with some curiosity.
'Nothing. But I can think of someone not a hundred miles away.' Then she turned to Poirot suddenly.
'James sticks to it that you believe someone in the house committed the murder. All I can say is, you're wrong.' 'I should not like to be wrong,' said Poirot. 'It is not how do you say - my metier?' 'I've got the facts pretty clearly,' continued Caroline, taking no notice ofPoirot's remark, 'from James and others.
As far as I can see, of the people in the house, only two could have had the chance of doing it. Ralph Paton and Flora Ackroyd.' 'My dear Caroline-' 'Now, James, don't interrupt me. I know what I'm talking about. Parker met her outside the door, didn't he?
He didn't hear her uncle saying goodnight to her. She could have killed him then and there.' 'Caroline!' 'I'm not saying she did, James. I'm saying she could have done. As a matter of fact, though. Flora is like all these young girls nowadays, with no veneration for their betters and thinking they know best on every subject under the sun, I don't for a minute believe she'd kill even a chicken.
But there it is. Mr Raymond and Major Blunt have alibis.
Mrs Ackroyd's got an alibi. Even that Russell woman seems to have one - and a good job for her it is she has. Who is left? Only Ralph and Flora! And say what you will, I don't believe Ralph Paton is a murderer. A boy we've known all our lives.' Poirot was silent for a minute, watching the curling smoke rise from his cigarette. When at last he spoke, it was in a gentle far-away voice that produced a curious impression.
It was totally unlike his usual manner.
'Let us take a man - a very ordinary man. A man with no idea of murder in his heart. There is in him somewhere a strain of weakness - deep down. It has so far never been called into play. Perhaps it never will be - and if so he will go to his grave honoured and respected by everyone. But let us suppose that something occurs. He is in difficulties - or perhaps not that even. He may stumble by accident on a secret - a secret involving life or death to someone. And his first impulse will be to speak out - to do his duty as an honest citizen. And then the strain of weakness tells. Here is a chance of money - a great amount of money. He wants money - he desires it - and it is so easy. He has to do nothing for it - just keep silence. That is the beginning. The desire for money grows. He must have more - and more! He is intoxicated by the gold mine which has opened at his feet.