people came in and sat down near the door. They were Parker and the housekeeper.
“The number is complete,” said Poirot. “Everyone is here.”
There was a ring of satisfaction in his tone. And with the sound of it I saw a ripple of something like uneasiness pass over all those faces grouped at the other end of the room. There was a suggestion in all this as of a trap—a trap that had closed.
Poirot read from a list in an important manner.
“ Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora Ackroyd, Major Blunt, Mr. Geoffrey Raymond, Mrs. Ralph Paton, John Parker, Elizabeth Russell.”
He laid the paper down on the table.
“What’s the meaning of all this?” began Raymond.
“The list I have just read,” said Poirot, “is a list of suspected persons. Every one of you present had the opportunity to kill Mr. Ackroyd—”
With a cry Mrs. Ackroyd sprang up, her throat working. “I don’t like it,” she wailed. “I don’t like it. I would much prefer to go home.”
“You cannot go home, madame,” said Poirot sternly, “until you have heard what I have to say.”
He paused a moment, then cleared his throat.
“I will start at the beginning. When Miss Ackroyd asked me to investigate the case, I went up to Fernly Park with the good Dr. Sheppard. I walked with him along the terrace, where I was shown the footprints on the windowsill. From there Inspector Raglan took me along the path which leads to the drive. My eye was caught by a little