“Indeed.”
“I’m not too flush just now, as a matter of fact. Came into a legacy a year ago, and like a fool let myself be persuaded into putting it into some wildcat scheme.”
I sympathized, and narrated my own similar trouble.
Then the gong pealed out, and we all went in to lunch.
Poirot drew me back a little. “ Eh bien? ”
“He’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
“Nothing—disturbing?”
“He had a legacy just a year ago,” I said. “But why not? Why shouldn’t he? I’ll swear the man is perfectly square and aboveboard.”
“Without doubt, without doubt,” said Poirot soothingly. “Do not upset yourself.”
He spoke as though to a fractious child.
We all trooped into the dining room. It seemed incredible that less than twenty-four hours had passed since I last sat at that table.
Afterwards, Mrs. Ackroyd took me aside and sat down with me on a sofa.
“I can’t help feeling a little hurt,” she murmured, producing a handkerchief of the kind obviously not meant to be cried into. “Hurt, I mean, by Roger’s lack of confidence in me. That twenty thousand pounds ought to have been left to me —not to Flora. A mother could be trusted to safeguard the interests of her child. A lack of trust, I call it.”