THE GOLDFISH POND
He hurried down the path with me close behind him, and joined the others by the pond.
"This is M. Hercule Poirot," said Flora. "I expect you've heard of him."
Poirot bowed.
"I know Major Blunt by reputation," he said politely. "I am glad to have encountered you, monsieur. I am in need of some information that you can give me."
Blunt looked at him inquiringly.
"When did you last see M. Ackroyd alive?"
"At dinner."
"And you neither saw nor heard anything of him after that?"
"Didn't see him. Heard his voice."
"How was that?"
"I strolled out on the terrace———"
"Pardon me, what time was this?"
"About half-past nine. I was walking up and down smoking in front of the drawing-room window. I heard Ackroyd talking in his study———"
Poirot stooped and removed a microscopic weed.
"Surely you couldn't hear voices in the study from that part of the terrace," he murmured.
He was not looking at Blunt, but I was, and to my intense surprise, I saw the latter flush.
"Went as far as the corner," he explained unwillingly.
"Ah! indeed?" said Poirot.
In the mildest manner he conveyed an impression that more was wanted.
[113]
