I was shrewd enough to see that a very real anxiety lay behind these outpourings. Poirot had been justified in his premises. Of the six people round the table yesterday, Mrs. Ackroyd at least had had something to hide. It was for me to discover what that something might be.

“If I were you, Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said brusquely, “I should make a clean breast of things.”

She gave a little scream. “Oh! doctor, how can you be so abrupt. It sounds as though⁠—as though⁠—And I can explain everything so simply.”

“Then why not do so?” I suggested.

Mrs. Ackroyd took out a frilled handkerchief, and became tearful.