Mr. Hammond provided the necessary diversion by coming up to say goodbye. I seized my chance and rose also.
“About the inquest,” I said. “Where would you prefer it to be held? Here, or at the Three Boars?”
Mrs. Ackroyd stared at me with a dropped jaw. “The inquest?” she asked, the picture of consternation. “But surely there won’t have to be an inquest?”
Mr. Hammond gave a dry little cough and murmured, “Inevitable. Under the circumstances,” in two short little barks.
“But surely Dr. Sheppard can arrange—”
“There are limits to my powers of arrangement,” I said drily.
“If his death was an accident—”
“He was murdered, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said brutally.
She gave a little cry.
“No theory of accident will hold water for a minute.”
Mrs. Ackroyd looked at me in distress. I had no patience with what I thought was her silly fear of unpleasantness.
“If there’s an inquest, I—I shan’t have to answer questions and all that, shall I?” she asked.
“I don’t know what will be necessary,” I answered. “I imagine Mr. Raymond will take the brunt of it off you. He knows all the circumstances, and can give formal evidence of identification.”
The lawyer assented with a little bow. “I really don’t think there is anything to dread, Mrs. Ackroyd,” he said. “You will be spared all the