‘Geoffrey Raymond was in a terrible way. Rang up Liverpool. But they wouldn’t tell him anything at the police station there. In fact, they said they hadn’t arrested Ralph at all. Mr Raymond insists that it’s all a mistake – a ~ what do they call it? – canard of the newspaper’s. I’ve forbidden it to be mentioned before the servants. Such a terrible disgrace.
Fancy if Flora had actually been married to him.’ Mrs Ackroyd shut her eyes in anguish. I began to wonder how soon I should be able to deliver Poirot’s invitation.
Before I had time to speak, Mrs Ackroyd was off again.
‘You were here yesterday, weren’t you, with that dreadful Inspector Raglan? Brute of a man – he terrified Flora into saying she took that money from poor Roger’s room. And the matter was so simple, really. The dear child wanted to borrow a few pounds, didn’t like to disturb her uncle since he’d given strict orders against it. But knowing where he kept his notes she went there and took what she needed.’ ‘Is that Flora’s account of the matter?’ I asked.
‘My dear doctor, you know what girls are nowadays. So easily acted on by suggestion. You, of course, know all about hypnosis and that sort of thing. The inspector shouts at her, says the word “steal” over and over again, until the poor child gets an inhibition – or is it a complex? -1 always mix up those two words – and actually thinks herself that she has stolen the money. I saw at once how it was. But I can’t be too thankful for the whole misunderstanding in one way – it seems to have brought those two together – Hector and Flora, I mean. And I assure you that I have been very much worried about Flora in the past: why, at one time I actually thought there was going to be some kind of understanding between her and young Raymond. Just think of it!’ Mrs Ackroyd’s voice rose in shrill horror. ‘A private secretary – with practically no means of his own.’ ‘It would have been a severe blow to you,’ I said. ‘Now, Mrs Ackroyd, I’ve got a message for you from M. Hercule Poirot.’ ‘For me?’ Mrs Ackroyd looked quite alarmed.
I hastened to reassure her, and I explained what Poirot wanted.
‘Certainly,’ said Mrs Ackroyd rather doubtfully. ‘I suppose we must come if M. Poirot says so. But what is it all about? I like to know beforehand.’ I assured the lady truthfully that I myself did not know any more than she did.
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Ackroyd at last, rather grudgingly, ‘I will tell the others, and we will be there at nine o’clock.’ Thereupon I took my leave, and joined Poirot at the agreed meeting-place.
‘I’ve been longer than a quarter of an hour, I’m afraid,’ I remarked. ‘But once that good lady starts talking it’s a matter of the utmost difficulty to get a word in edgeways.’ ‘It is of no matter,’ said Poirot. The, I have been well amused. This park is magnificent.’ We set off homewards. When we arrived, to our great surprise Caroline, who had evidently been watching for us, herself opened the door.
She put her finger to her lips. Her face was full of importance and excitement.
‘Ursula Bourne,’ she said, ‘the parlourmaid from Fernly.
She’s here! I’ve put her in the dining-room. She’s in a terrible way, poor thing. Says she must see M. Poirot at For a moment or two the girl looked mutely at Poirot.
Then, her reserve breaking down completely, she nodded her head once, and burst into an outburst of sobs.
Caroline pushed past me, and putting her arm round the girl, patted her on the shoulder.
‘There, there, my dear,’ she said soothingly, ‘it will be all right. You’ll see – everything will be all right.’ Buried under curiosity and scandal-mongering there is a lot of kindness in Caroline. For the moment, even the interest of Poirot’s revelation was lost in the sight of the girl’s distress.
Presently Ursula sat up and wiped her eyes.
‘This is very Weak and silly of me,’ she said.