Chapter 10 Chapter 10 The Parlor Maid

THE PARALLOYMAID We meet Mrs Ackroyd in the hall.With her was a short, wizened man with a bulging chest and piercing gray eyes, and in every way resembling a lawyer. "Mr Hammond will be lunching with us," said Mrs Ackroyd. "Do you know Major Brent, Mr Hammond? This is Dr. Shepard—and a close friend of Roger's. One is—" She paused for a moment, looking blankly at Hercule Poirot. "This is M. Poirot, mother," introduced Flora, "the man I told you about this morning." "Oh! yes," said Mrs. Ackroyd vaguely. "Of course, I Of course, my dear. He'll find Ralph, won't he?" "He'll find out who murdered my uncle," said Flora.

"Oh! my dear," cried her mother, "please! My nerves are so weak that I've been in such a bad shape this morning that I've broken down completely. That something so dreadful should happen. I always have a I feel that this incident must have happened by accident. Roger is too fond of playing with those weird antiques. It must be because he accidentally slipped his hand, or some other reason." Out of politeness, people did not raise any objections to her words .I saw Poirot press close to the lawyer, and the two began to converse in low tones.They moved slowly into the window recess, and I wanted to join their conversation too—but hesitated.

"Don't interfere with your conversation." I said. "Where," said Poirot with great enthusiasm, "you and I, Monsieur Doctor, join hands in the investigation of this case, which I could not have done without you. I just want to get some information from the good Mr. Hammond. " "You work for Captain Ralph Paton?" said the lawyer cautiously. Poirot shook his head. "No, we're taking this case for justice. Miss Ackroyd asked me to investigate her uncle's death." Hammond was slightly surprised. "I don't believe Captain Peyton has anything to do with this case," he said, "no matter how bad the evidence is against him. The only fact is that he's hard-pressed, driven by money—" "He's very good at money." Difficult?" asked Poirot quickly.

The lawyer shrugged. "It's been like this for a long time," he said coldly. "He spends a lot of money and asks his stepfather for money." "Is he still asking for money recently? For example, in the most recent Within a year." "I can't tell, Mr Ackroyd never mentioned it to me." "I see. Mr Hammond, I think you must be familiar with the provisions of Mr Ackroyd's will Right." "Of course. That is the main purpose of my coming today." "Well, since I have been entrusted by Miss Ackroyd to handle the case for her, I would like you to tell me the terms of your will. No objection." "The will is written very simply, without the high-sounding legal language. Except for the payment of a part of the gratuities—" "For example—" Poirot interrupted him.

Mr. Hammond could not help being surprised. "A thousand pounds to the housekeeper, Miss Russell, fifty pounds to the cook Emma Cooper, five hundred pounds to the secretary Geoffrey Raymond. Then to the hospitals—" Poirot held up his hand. "Ah! For charity, that doesn't interest me." "Exactly. The proceeds of ten thousand pounds of shares went to Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd until her death. Miss Flora Ackroyd directly inherited twenty thousand pounds." The rest—including these properties, and shares in Aykroyd & Sons—to Ralph Paton, adopted son." "Does Mr. Aykroyd own a large fortune?" "A considerable fortune, Captain Paton will be a very rich young man." There was a moment's silence, and Poirot and the lawyer exchanged glances.

"Mr. Hammond." came Mrs. Ackroyd's mournful call from the fireplace. The lawyer heard the call and passed.Poirot took my arm and came to the window recess. "Look at these rainbows," he said aloud, "it's spectacular! It's a truly refreshing sight." Then I realized he was pinching my arm, and whispered to me, "You really want to help Me? Really want to take part in this survey?" "Of course," I replied eagerly, "I would love to. You know, I've lived a dull old life all my life. It's all banal stuff." "Very well, we're colleagues now. I can expect Major Brent to come to us after a while, because he won't be happy with old mamma. I Wanted to know something—but I didn't want anyone to see that I wanted to know these things. Do you understand? So I sent you to ask." "What do you want me to ask?" I understood his intention.

"I want you to mention Mrs. Ferrars' name." "Just for that?" "Be natural when you mention her. You ask him if he was here when her husband died. You You know what I mean. Watch the expression on his face when he answers, but put on a nonchalant look. C'est compris (French: Got it)?" We can't go any further, For at this moment, as Poirot had expected, Brent suddenly left the group and came towards us. I suggested he go for a walk on the terrace, and he followed me out without saying a word.Poirot stayed. I pause to admire a late-blooming rose. "So much has happened in the past two days," I said, watching, "I remember I came here last Wednesday, and I walked on this terrace, and Aykroyd was with me--he was still in good spirits. Full of life. And now—three days later—Ackroyd is dead, poor old man. Mrs Ferrars is dead—don't you know her? Of course you do." Brent nodded .

"Have you seen her this time you've been here?" "Visited her with Ackroyd, like last Tuesday. A charming woman - but she behaves a little queer. Unfathomable - can't guess Find out what she's up to." I stared into his motionless gray eyes and found nothing in them.Then I went on: "I think you've seen her before?" "Last time I was here—she and her husband just settled here." It's unbelievable how different she was when I saw her last time and how different I saw her this time." "What's changed?" I asked. "Looks like ten years older." "You weren't here when her husband died?" I asked, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Not here. From what I've heard, such people are better off dead. That might sound cruel, but it's true." I agreed with him. "Ashley Ferrars is hardly a model husband," I said cautiously. "He's a real villain to me," said Brent. "No," I said, "it's only money that hurt him." "Oh! money! the source of all evil. Money causes all trouble in the world—money or lack of money causes trouble." "Then you What specific troubles did you run into?" I asked. "My money is enough for me, I am lucky." "Indeed." "In fact, I am not very rich now. I waited for an inheritance a year ago, but I fell into someone else's trap like a fool." , throwing the money into a dubious venture." I sympathized with him, and related a similar experience of my own.

Then the gong for dinner sounded, and we went to lunch together.Poirot pulled me back a little. "How's it going?" "Nothing out of the ordinary," I said, "I'm sure of that." "Nothing suspicious?" "He got an inheritance a year ago," I said, "a natural one." Inheritance. I can swear to him that he is a well-behaved man." "No doubt, no doubt," reassured Poirot. "Don't bother yourself." He seemed to be talking to a stubborn child. We enter the restaurant one by one.It's been unbelievable that it's been less than twenty-four hours since we ate here yesterday.

After dinner Mrs Ackroyd took me aside and sat down with me on the sofa. "It hurts me so much," she murmured, taking out her handkerchief but not wanting to wipe her tears with it, "I mean, Roger doesn't trust me so much that twenty thousand pounds It should be left to me—not to Flora. He should trust that, as a mother, I will fully protect the child's interests. I think he mistrusted me by doing so." "You forgot, Ike Mrs. Lloyd," I said, "Flora is Ackroyd's biological niece, related by blood. It would be different if you were his biological sister instead of his sister-in-law." "As poor Ceci I think he should take my feelings into consideration," said Mrs Ackroyd, wiping her eyes tremblingly with her handkerchief, "but Roger is stingy—so stingy. Flora and I are in the same situation. Very hard. She even asked him for money for the decorations on her clothes, but he didn't like it, and kept asking her what she was doing with them—what a man—but—I forgot myself Wanted to say something! Oh, yes, we have nothing on us. Flora was very upset about it—yes, I should say she was bitter about it. She was, of course, loyal to her uncle. But any kid would resent it. Yes, I should say Roger has a very queer way of thinking about money. I told him his face towel was torn and he just didn't want to buy a new one. And yet," said Mrs Aykroyd at this moment, suddenly raising her voice, which is one of the hallmarks of her conversation, "give that money—a thousand pounds, you think, a thousand pounds to that woman!" Which woman?" "Russell. She's very eccentric, I've always said that about her. But Roger won't allow anyone to say a bad word about her, say she's a woman with a strong personality, and say she's very admired." , respects her a lot. He always praises him for being upright, independent, and moral. I always thought her actions were a bit suspicious. Obviously, she was trying to get married to Roger. But I stopped her, so she was very It's only natural to hate me. I've seen her through." I wanted to leave her, but didn't know how to stop her babbling. Her conversation was interrupted when Hammond came to say good-bye to us.I took the opportunity to stand up. "As for the post-mortem," I said, "where do you think it would be better to do it? Here or at Thriber?" Mrs Ackroyd stared straight at me with her mouth open. "An autopsy?" She looked astonished. "Is it necessary?" Mr. Hammond coughed hoarsely and said in a low voice, "An autopsy is inevitable when something like this happens." "Yes." Surely Dr. Sheppard will arrange everything—" "I have no power to arrange," I said indifferently. "If he died by accident—" "He was murdered, Mrs Ackroyd," I said grimly. She let out a short scream. "The theory of accidental death is simply not established." Mrs. Ackroyd looked at me sadly, and she was afraid that the autopsy would cause some unpleasant things.This idea is so stupid, I am really impatient. "If there's an autopsy, I—I don't have to answer any questions, do I?" she asked. "I don't know if it's necessary," I replied, "but I suppose Mr. Raymond will answer for you, he knows everything, and he will provide all the formal proofs of identification." The lawyer nodded slightly. agree. "I really think there's no need to be afraid, Mrs. Ackroyd," said he, "and a lot of unpleasant things can be avoided by doing so. As for money, do you have any urgent needs?" when she looked at him inquiringly. , he added: "I'm asking if you have money on hand, which is cash. If not, I can arrange to give you the money you need first." "Should say no problem," Raymond said. Standing aside, he said, "Mr. Ackroyd exchanged one hundred pounds in cash yesterday." "One hundred pounds?" "Yes, it is going to be used to pay wages and other expenses today, and it has not been changed yet." " Where is the money? In his desk?" "No, he always keeps the cash in the bedroom, or rather, in an old collar-box. It's a ridiculous place." "I think," said the lawyer, "that we need to see if the money is still there before I leave." "Of course we should," agreed the secretary, "and I'll take you right now. Go upstairs... oh! I forgot, the door is locked." Parker heard that Inspector Raglan was asking some other questions in the housekeeper's room.A few minutes later the inspector returned to the hall, key in hand, and joined us.He unlocked the door, and we entered the porch and up the narrow staircase, which led to Ackrod's bedroom, the door of which was still open.The light in the room was dim, the curtains were not drawn, and the bed was turned down like last night.The Inspector drew the curtains to let the sunlight into the room.Raymond went straight to the mahogany desk to open the top drawer. "That's the way he is, how careless it is to keep money in an unlocked drawer," remarked the inspector. The secretary's face flushed slightly. "Mr Ackroyd has every confidence in the honesty of the servants," he said grumpily. "Oh! Indeed," said the inspector hastily. Raymond opened the drawer and took out a round leather collar case from the inside.He opened the box and pulled out a thick leather wallet. "Here's the money," he said, drawing out a large roll of notes. "You see, a hundred pounds untouched. Mr. Ackroyd put it in there in front of me last night when he was dressing and eating." In this box, of course no one will touch it in the future." Mr. Hammond took the roll of money from him and counted, and he suddenly raised his head. "You said it was a hundred pounds, but here is only sixty pounds." Raymond stared at him dumbfounded. "Impossible," he cried, leaping forward, snatching the money from Hammond, and counting it loudly. Mr. Hammond was not mistaken, the total was sixty pounds. "But—I just can't understand it," cried the secretary, bewildered. Poirot began to ask questions. "Did you watch Mr Ackroyd put the money in it last night when he was dressing for dinner? Are you sure he didn't touch it?" "I'm sure he didn't. And he said: ' I don't want to go to dinner with a hundred pounds in my pocket, stuffed'." "That makes things easy," said Poirot, "either he paid forty pounds sometime last night, or Just stolen." "That's a plain and simple explanation," said the inspector approvingly, and turning to Mrs Ackroyd, "was any servant here last night?" "I think the maid who made the bed was." Who is she? Do you know her well?" "She hasn't been here long," said Mrs Ackroyd, "but she's a lovely ordinary country girl." "I think we ought to get this out of the way." Clearly," said the Inspector, "if Mr Ackroyd hadn't paid the money himself, it would have given some clue to the mystery of the murder. Were the other servants reliable, as far as you know?" "Oh, I think it's all right." "Has anything been lost before this?" "No." "Is anyone leaving here?" "Yes, parlor maid." "When?" "She said she was leaving yesterday Here." "Is it proposed to you?" "No, I have nothing to do with the servants. Miss Russell handles all the business of the house." The inspector thought for a moment, then nodded and said: "I think I should Talk to Miss Russell first, and then Miss Dale." Poirot and I accompanied him to the housekeeper's room, where Miss Russell received us with her usual composure. Elsie Dale had been at Fernley Court for five months.She was a lovely girl, quick in her work, and respected by all.Everyone can attest that she never takes anything that doesn't belong to her. "How's the parlour-maid?" "She's a wonderful girl, very quiet, looks like a rich lady, and works very hard." "Then why did she leave?" asked the inspector. Miss Russell pursed her lips. "It has nothing to do with me. I know Mr. Ackroyd was trying to find her fault yesterday afternoon. It was her job to clean the study, and I imagined that she had messed up the papers on the desk, much to his annoyance. Then She offered to resign. That's what I heard from her, you'd better go and see her in person. The inspector agreed.That girl was serving us at the lunch table, and I noticed her then.She was tall, with curly brown hair pulled back close to the back of her head, and determined gray eyes.The housekeeper gave a call, and she came in, standing erect at our table, gazing at us with her gray eyes. "You are Ursula Byrne?" asked the inspector. "Yes, sir." "You're leaving, aren't you?" "Yes, sir." "Why?" "Mr Ackroyd was very angry when I messed up the papers on his desk. I said I had better leave, and he told me to go as soon as possible." "Have you been in Mr Ackroyd's bedroom last night? To tidy up or to do something else?" "No, sir, that's El I never go to that place." "I must tell you, girl, that a large sum of money is missing from Mr Ackroyd's room." She was flushed with rage. "I don't know anything about money, and if you think Mr. Ackroyd dismissed me because I took the money, you're screwed." "I didn't say you took the money, girl," said the inspector. "Don't lose your temper." The girl looked at him coldly. "You can search my things if you like," she said contemptuously, "but you won't find anything." Poirot interrupted suddenly: "Mr Ackroyd has dismissed you—or You said that you resigned yourself, did this happen yesterday afternoon?" The girl nodded. "How long did your conversation go on?" "Did you say it was a conversation?" "Yes, your conversation with Mr. Ackroyd in the study." "I—I don't know." "It was twenty A minute? Half an hour?" "About that long." "Not more than that?" "Of course less than half an hour." "Thank you, madam." I looked at Poirot curiously.He straightened several items on the table and readjusted their positions.His eyes were piercing. "All right," said the inspector. After Ursula Byrne had gone, the Inspector turned to Miss Russell. "How long has she been here? Do you have anything like her character certification letter here?" Miss Russell didn't answer his question, but walked to the writing desk next to her, opened the drawer, and took Get out a stack of letters held in a clip.She selected one and handed it to the inspector. "Well," he said, "seems to be all right. Mrs. Richard Foliott of Marby Grange. Who is this woman?" "Pretty nice country woman," said Miss Russell. "Very well," said the inspector, returning the letter to her. "Let's see another one—Elsie Dale." Elsie Dale was a pretty girl, tall, with a lovely face, but a little silly.She answered our questions very quickly and was very concerned and saddened by the loss of money. "I see she's all right," said the inspector, after dismissing her. "How's Parker?" Miss Russell pouted, but made no answer. "I have a feeling there's always something wrong with this man," said the Inspector thoughtfully. "It's always just me not knowing when he had a chance of getting into Ackroyd's room. From the beginning of the meal he Just been so busy with alibi all night long. I've been very concerned about that. Well, thank you very much, Miss Russell. Let's put that aside for now. It's probably Ike Mr. Lloyd paid the money." The housekeeper said good afternoon to us expressionlessly. I left Mr Ackroyd's with Poirot. "I've been wondering," I broke the silence, "what the hell has this girl messed up with the papers that Aykroyd could be so angry with. I think there must be some clue to the mystery." said the secretary. There are no papers of particular importance on the table," said Poirot calmly. "Yes, but—" I pause for a moment. "Does it seem strange to you that Mr. Ackroyd should be so angry at such a small matter?" "Yes, and very strange." "Is it a small matter?" "Of course we don't know what documents these are." ’” I admitted, “but Raymond was very sure—” “Let’s not talk about Mr. Raymond, what do you think of that girl?” “Which girl? Parlor maid?” “Yes, parlor maid Ursula Byrne." "She looks like a lovely girl," I said hesitantly. Poirot repeated my words, but I put the emphasis on "lovely" and he on "as if." "She looks like a lovely girl—not bad." After a moment's silence, he took something from his pocket and handed it to me. "Well, my friend, I want you to see something. You want to see?" He handed me a slip of paper which turned out to be the material which the inspector had put together and handed to Poirot this morning.Where he was pointing, I saw a small "ten" written in pencil next to Ursula Byrne's name. "You may not have noticed it then, my old friend. There is only one person on this list who has no alibi, and that is Ursula Byrne." "Do you think she— "I can imagine anything, Dr Shepard. Ursula Byrne might kill Mr Ackroyd, but I must admit I can't imagine her motives, can you?" His eyes were fixed on me, which made me feel very uncomfortable. "What about you?" he repeated. "No motive at all," I said firmly. His eyes relaxed, he frowned, and muttered to himself; "Since the blackmailer is a man, it means that the blackmailer is not her. Then—" I coughed. "As far as—" I hesitated. He turned suddenly to face me. "What? What are you going to say?" "Nothing, nothing. That's the way it is. Mrs. Ferrars only mentioned one person in her letter, and she didn't explicitly say it was a man. But Ike Both Lloyd and I have no objection that this man is a man." Poirot did not seem to be listening to my explanation, and he continued to himself: "But anyway, it is possible-yes, of course Possibly—but—ah! I must organize my thoughts. Method, order, that's what I need most now. Everything must have a place—a definite place—or else it will slip into the wrong direction. ’ He turned abruptly again, and exclaimed: ‘Where’s Marby Grange? Four miles." "Could you take a trip? How about tomorrow?" "Tomorrow? Let me think about it. Tomorrow is Sunday, well, I can arrange it. What do you want me to do there?" "Go to Folio Inquire as much as you can about Ursula Byrne, Mrs. Tate." "Well, but—I don't like that kind of thing very much." "This is not the time to argue, you know , it has a lot to do with a man's fate." "Poor Ralph," I said with a sigh, "you believe he is innocent, don't you?" Poirot looked at me very seriously. "Do you want to know what's going on?" "Of course." "Then I'll tell you, my friend. Everything that's going on now is to prove Ralph's guilt." "Really?" I wondered. shouted. Poirot nodded. "Yes, that stupid Inspector - because he is stupid - did everything to prove it. I was always looking for the facts - and every time I found the facts, it turned against Ralph Paton Motives, chances, means. But I will get to the bottom of it all, I promised Miss Flora. The little girl is so sure, so confident."