“No, me, I will promenade myself in the grounds. I will rejoin you by the lodge gates in a quarter of an hour’s time.”
I nodded, and set off on my task. The only member of the family at home proved to be Mrs. Ackroyd, who was sipping an early cup of tea. She received me very graciously.
“So grateful to you, doctor,” she murmured, “for clearing up that little matter with M. Poirot. But life is one trouble after another. You have heard about Flora, of course?”
“What exactly?” I asked cautiously.
“This new engagement. Flora and Hector Blunt. Of course not such a good match as Ralph would have been. But after all, happiness comes first. What dear Flora needs is an older man—someone steady and reliable, and then Hector is really a very distinguished man in his way. You saw the news of Ralph’s arrest in the paper this morning?”
“Yes,” I said, “I did.”
“Horrible.” Mrs. Ackroyd closed her eyes and shuddered. “Geoffrey Raymond was in a terrible way. Rang up Liverpool. But they wouldn’t tell him anything at the police station there. In fact, they said they hadn’t arrested Ralph at all. Mr. Raymond insists that it’s all a mistake—a—what do they call it?— canard of the newspaper’s. I’ve forbidden it to be mentioned before the servants. Such a terrible disgrace. Fancy if Flora had actually been married to him.”
Mrs. Ackroyd shut her eyes in anguish. I began to wonder how soon I should be able to deliver Poirot’s invitation. Before I had time to speak, Mrs. Ackroyd was off again.
“You were here yesterday, weren’t you, with that dreadful Inspector Raglan? Brute of a man—he terrified Flora into saying she took that