“Well, I’ve taken the prints of every member of the household, everyone, mind you, from the old lady down to the kitchen maid.”

I don’t think Mrs. Ackroyd would enjoy being referred to as the old lady. She must spend a considerable amount on cosmetics.

“Everyone’s,” repeated the inspector fussily.

“Including mine,” I said drily.

“Very well. None of them correspond. That leaves us two alternatives. Ralph Paton, or the mysterious stranger the doctor here tells us about. When we get hold of those two⁠—”

“Much valuable time may have been lost,” broke in Poirot.

“I don’t quite get you, Mr. Poirot.”