“Didn’t see him. Heard his voice.”

“How was that?”

“I strolled out on the terrace⁠—”

“Pardon me, what time was that?”

“About half-past nine. I was walking up and down smoking in front of the drawing room window. I heard Ackroyd talking in his study⁠—”

Poirot stopped and removed a microscopic weed. “Surely you couldn’t hear voices in the study from that part of the terrace,” he murmured.

He was not looking at Blunt, but I was, and to my intense surprise, I saw the latter flush.

“Went as far as the corner,” he explained unwillingly.

“Ah! indeed?” said Poirot.