THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
"Yes, you seem to know a lot about operas."
"People take me sometimes," said Blunt sadly. "Funny idea of pleasure—worse racket than the natives make with their tom-toms."
Flora laughed.
"I remember Mélisande," continued Blunt, "married an old chap old enough to be her father."
He threw a small piece of flint into the goldfish pond. Then, with a change of manner, he turned to Flora.
"Miss Ackroyd, can I do anything? About Paton, I mean. I know how dreadfully anxious you must be."
"Thank you," said Flora in a cold voice. "There is really nothing to be done. Ralph will be all right. I've got hold of the most wonderful detective in the world, and he's going to find out all about it."
For some time I had felt uneasy as to our position. We were not exactly eavesdropping, since the two in the garden below had only to lift their heads to see us. Nevertheless, I should have drawn attention to our presence before now, had not my companion put a warning pressure on my arm. Clearly he wished me to remain silent.
But now he rose briskly to his feet, clearing his throat.
"I demand pardon," he cried. "I cannot allow mademoiselle thus extravagantly to compliment me, and not draw attention to my presence. They say the listener hears no good of himself, but that is not the case this time. To spare my blushes, I must join you and apologize."
[112]
