‘Does no one know where he is?’ she asked.
‘Do you?’ I said sharply.
She shook her head.
‘No, indeed. I know nothing. But anyone who was a friend to him would tell him this: he ought to come back.’ I lingered, thinking that perhaps the girl would say more.
Her next question surprised me.
‘When do they think the murder was done? Just before ten o’clock?’ ‘That is the idea,’ I said. ‘Between a quarter to ten and the hour.’ ‘Not earlier? Not before a quarter to ten?’ I looked at her attentively. She was so clearly eager for a reply in the affirmative.
‘That’s out of the question,’ I said. ‘Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive at a quarter to ten.’ She turned away, and her whole figure seemed to droop.
‘A handsome girl,’ I said to myself as I drove off. ‘An exceedingly handsome girl.’ Caroline was at home. She had had a visit from Poirot and was very pleased and important about it.
‘I am helping him with the case,’ she explained.
I felt rather uneasy. Caroline is bad enough as it is. What will she be like with her detective instincts encouraged?
‘Are you going round the neighbourhood looking for Ralph Paton’s mysterious girl?’ I inquired.
‘I might do that on my own account,’ said Caroline. ‘No, this is a special thing M. Poirot wants me to find out for him.’ ‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘He wants to know whether Ralph Paton’s boots were black or brown,’ said Caroline with tremendous solemnity.
I stared at her. I see now that I was unbelievably stupid about these boots. I failed altogether to grasp the point.
‘They were brown shoes,’ I said. ‘I saw them.’ ‘Not shoes, James, boots. M. Poirot wants to know whether a pair of boots Ralph had with him at the hotel were brown or black. A lot hangs on it.’ Call me dense if you like. I didn’t see.
‘And how are you going to find out?’ I asked.
Caroline said there would be no difficulty about that. Our Annie’s dearest friend was Miss Gannett’s maid, Clara. And Clara was walking out with the Boots at the Three Boars.
The whole thing was simplicity itself, and by the aid of Miss Gannett, who co-operated loyally, at once giving Clara leave of absence, the matter was rushed through at express speed.
It was when we were sitting down to lunch that Caroline remarked, with would-be unconcern: ‘About those boots of Ralph Paton’s.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘what about them?’ ‘M. Poirot thought they were probably brown. He was wrong. They’re black.’ And Caroline nodded her head several times. She evidently felt that she had scored a point over Poirot.
I did not answer. I was puzzling over what the colour of a pair of Ralph Paton’s boots had to do with the case.
CHAPTER 14 Geoffrey Raymond
I was to have a further proof that day of the success of Poirot’s tactics. That challenge of his had been a subtle touch born of his knowledge of human nature. A mixture of fear and guilt had wrung the truth from Mrs Ackroyd. She was the first to react.
That afternoon when I returned from seeing my patients, Caroline told me that Geoffrey Raymond had just left.
‘Did he want to see me?’ I asked, as I hung up my coat in the hall.
Caroline was hovering by my elbow.
‘It was M. Poirot he wanted to see,’ she said. ‘He’d just come from the Larches. Mr. Poirot was out. Mr Raymond thought that he might be here, or that you might know where he was.’ ‘I haven’t the least idea.’ ‘I tried to make him wait,’ said Caroline, ‘but he said he would call back at The Larches in half an hour, and went away down the village. A great pity, because M. Poirot came in practically the minute after he left.’ ‘Came in here?’ ‘No, to his own house.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘The side window,’ said Caroline briefly.
It seemed to me that we had now exhausted the topic.
Caroline thought otherwise.
‘Aren’t you going across?’ ‘Across where?’ ‘To The Larches, of course.’ ‘My dear Caroline,’ I said, ‘what for?’ ‘Mr Raymond wanted to see him very particularly s; ^ Caroline. ‘You might hear what it’s all about.’ I raised my eyebrows.