possible.”
“Were you in Mr. Ackroyd’s bedroom at all last night? Tidying up or anything?”
“No, sir. That is Elsie’s work. I never went near that part of the house.”
“I must tell you, my girl, that a large sum of money is missing from Mr. Ackroyd’s room.”
At last I saw her roused. A wave of colour swept over her face.
“I know nothing about any money. If you think I took it, and that that is why Mr. Ackroyd dismissed me, you are wrong.”
“I’m not accusing you of taking it, my girl,” said the inspector. “Don’t flare up so.”
The girl looked at him coldly. “You can search my things if you like,” she said disdainfully. “But you won’t find anything.”
Poirot suddenly interposed. “It was yesterday afternoon that Mr. Ackroyd dismissed you—or you dismissed yourself, was it not?” he asked.
The girl nodded.
“How long did the interview last?”
“The interview?”
“Yes, the interview between you and Mr. Ackroyd in the study?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Twenty minutes? Half an hour?”
“Something like that.”