The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd - Christie Agatha (читать книги полностью TXT) 📗

'Yes,' I repeated encouragingly. 'On Friday afternoon. Well?' 'Everyone was out, or so I thought. And I went into Roger's study - I had some real reason for going there - I mean, there was nothing underhand about it. And as I saw all the papers heaped on the desk, it just came to me, like a flash: "I wonder if Roger keeps his will in one of the drawers of the desk." I'm so impulsive, always was, from a child. I do things on the spur of the moment. He'd left his keys - very careless of him - in the lock of the top drawer.' 'I see,' I said helpfully. 'So you searched the desk. Did you find the will?' Mrs Ackroyd gave a little scream, and I realized that I had not been sufficiently diplomatic.

'How dreadful it sounds. But it wasn't at all like that really.' 'Of course it wasn't,' I said hastily. 'You must forgive my unfortunate way of putting things.' 'Of course, men are so peculiar. In dear Roger's place, I should have not objected to revealing the provisions of my will. But men are so secretive. One is forced to adopt little subterfuges in self-defence.' 'And the result of the little subterfuge?' I asked.

'That's just what I'm telling you. As I got to the bottom drawer. Bourne came in. Most awkward. Of course I shut the drawer and stood up, and I called her attention to a few specks of dust on the surface. But I didn't like the way she looked - quite respectful in manner, but a very nasty light in her eyes. Almost contemptuous, if you know what I mean. I never have liked that girl very much. She's a good servant, and she says Ma'am, and doesn't object to wearing caps and aprons (which I declare to you a lot of them do nowadays), and she can say "Not at home" without scruples if she has to answer the door instead of Parker, and she doesn't have those peculiar gurgling noises inside which so many parlourmaids seem to have when they wait at table Let me see, where was I?' 'You were saying, that in spite of several valuable qualities, you never liked Bourne.' 'No more I do. She's - odd. There's something different about her from the others. Too well educated, that's my opinion. You can't tell who are ladies and who aren't nowadays.' 'And what happened next?' I asked.

'Nothing. At least, Roger came in. And I thought he was out for a walk. And he said: "What's all this?" and I said "Nothing. I just came in to fetch Punch." And I took Punch and went out with it. Bourne stayed behind. I heard her asking Roger if she could speak to him for a minute. I went straight up to my room, to lie down. I was very upset.' There was a pause.

'You will explain to M. Poirot, won't you? You can see for yourself what a trivial matter the whole thing was. But, of course, when he was so stern about concealing things, I thought of this at once. Bourne may have made some extraordinary story out of it, but you can explain, can't you?' 'That is all?' I said. 'You have told me everything?' 'Ye-es,' said Mrs Ackroyd. 'Oh! yes,' she added firmly.

But I had noted the momentary hesitation, and I knew that there was still something she was keeping back. It was nothing less than a flash of sheer genius that prompted me to ask the question I did.

'Mrs Ackroyd,' I said, 'was it you who left the silver table open?' I had my answer in the blush of guilt that even rouge and powder could not conceal.

'How did you know?' she whispered.

'It was you, then?' 'Yes - I - you see - there were one or two pieces of old silver - very interesting. I had been reading up the subject and there was an illustration of quite a small piece which had fetched an immense sum at Christy's. It looked to be just the same as the one in the silver table. I thought I would take it up to London with me when I went - and - and have it valued. Then if it really was a valuable piece, just think what a charming surprise it would have been for Roger.' I refrained from comments, accepting Mrs Ackroyd's story on its merits. I even forbore to ask her why it was necessary to abstract what she wanted in such a surreptitious manner.

'Why did you leave the lid open?' I asked. 'Did you forget?' 'I was startled,' said Mrs Ackroyd. 'I heard footsteps coining along the terrace outside. I hastened out of the room and just got up the stairs before Parker opened the front door to you.' That must have been Miss Russell,' I said thoughtfully.

Mrs Ackroyd had revealed to me one fact that was extremely interesting. Whether her designs upon Ackroyd's silver had been strictly honourable I neither knew nor cared. What did interest me was the fact that Miss Russell must have entered the drawing-room by the window, and that I had not been wrong when I judged her to be out of breath with running. Where had she been? I thought of the summer-house and the scrap of cambric.

'I wonder if Miss Russell has had her handkerchiefs starched!' I exclaimed on the spur of the moment.

Mrs Ackroyd's start recalled me to myself, and I rose.

'You think you can explain to M. Poirot?' she asked anxiously.

'Oh, certainly. Absolutely.' I got away at last, after being forced to listen to more justifications of her conduct.

The parlourmaid was in the hall, and it was she who helped me on with my overcoat. I observed her more closely than I had done heretofore. It was clear that she had been crying.

'How is it,' I asked, 'that you told us that Mr Ackroyd sent for you on Friday to his study? I hear now that it was you who asked to speak to him.' For a minute the girl's eyes dropped before mine.

Then she spoke.

'I meant to leave in any case,' she said uncertainly.

I said no more. She opened the front door for me. Just as I was passing out, she said suddenly in a low voice: 'Excuse me, sir, is there any news of Captain Paton?' I shook my head, looking at her inquiringly.

'He ought to come back,' she said. 'Indeed - indeed he ought to come back.' She was looking at me with appealing eyes.

'Does no one know where he is?' she asked.

'Do you?' I said sharply.

She shook her head.

'No, indeed. I know nothing. But anyone who was a friend to him would tell him this: he ought to come back.' I lingered, thinking that perhaps the girl would say more.

Her next question surprised me.

'When do they think the murder was done? Just before ten o'clock?' 'That is the idea,' I said. 'Between a quarter to ten and the hour.' 'Not earlier? Not before a quarter to ten?' I looked at her attentively. She was so clearly eager for a reply in the affirmative.

'That's out of the question,' I said. 'Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive at a quarter to ten.' She turned away, and her whole figure seemed to droop.

'A handsome girl,' I said to myself as I drove off. 'An exceedingly handsome girl.' Caroline was at home. She had had a visit from Poirot and was very pleased and important about it.

'I am helping him with the case,' she explained.

I felt rather uneasy. Caroline is bad enough as it is. What will she be like with her detective instincts encouraged?

'Are you going round the neighbourhood looking for Ralph Paton's mysterious girl?' I inquired.

'I might do that on my own account,' said Caroline. 'No, this is a special thing M. Poirot wants me to find out for him.' 'What is it?' I asked.

'He wants to know whether Ralph Paton's boots were black or brown,' said Caroline with tremendous solemnity.

I stared at her. I see now that I was unbelievably stupid about these boots. I failed altogether to grasp the point.

'They were brown shoes,' I said. 'I saw them.' 'Not shoes, James, boots. M. Poirot wants to know whether a pair of boots Ralph had with him at the hotel were brown or black. A lot hangs on it.' Call me dense if you like. I didn't see.

'And how are you going to find out?' I asked.

Caroline said there would be no difficulty about that. Our Annie's dearest friend was Miss Gannett's maid, Clara. And Clara was walking out with the Boots at the Three Boars.