“Sheppard, nobody knows what I’ve gone through in the last twenty-four hours. If a man’s house ever fell in ruin about him, mine has about me. This business of Ralph’s is the last straw. But we won’t talk about that now. It’s the other⁠—the other⁠—! I don’t know what to do about it. And I’ve got to make up my mind soon.”

“What’s the trouble?”

Ackroyd remained silent for a minute or two. He seemed curiously averse to begin. When he did speak, the question he asked came as a complete surprise. It was the last thing I expected.

“Sheppard, you attended Ashley Ferrars in his last illness, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

He seemed to find even greater difficulty in framing his next question.

“Did you ever suspect⁠—did it ever enter your head⁠—that⁠—well, that he might have been poisoned?”