It was Friday night, and on Friday night I wind the clocks. I did it as usual, whilst Caroline satisfied herself that the servants had locked up the kitchen properly.
It was a quarter past ten as we went up the stairs. I had just reached the top when the telephone rang in the hall below.
“ Mrs. Bates,” said Caroline immediately.
“I’m afraid so,” I said ruefully.
I ran down the stairs and took up the receiver.
“What?” I said. “ What? Certainly, I’ll come at once.”
I ran upstairs, caught up my bag, and stuffed a few extra dressings into it.
“Parker telephoning,” I shouted to Caroline, “from Fernly. They’ve just found Roger Ackroyd murdered.”