THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
"Every one's," repeated the inspector fussily.
"Including mine," I said dryly.
"Very well. None of them correspond. That leaves us two alternatives. Ralph Paton, or the mysterious stranger the doctor here tells us about. When we get hold of those two———"
"Much valuable time may have been lost," broke in Poirot.
"I don't quite get you, Mr. Poirot?"
"You have taken the prints of every one in the house, you say," murmured Poirot. "Is that the exact truth you are telling me there, M. l'Inspecteur?"'
"Certainly."
"Without overlooking any one?"
"Without overlooking any one."
"The quick or the dead?"
For a moment the inspector looked bewildered at what he took to be a religious observation. Then he reacted slowly.
"You mean———"
"The dead, M. l'Inspecteur."
The inspector still took a minute or two to understand.
"I am suggesting," said Poirot placidly, "that the fingerprints on the dagger handle are those of Mr. Ackroyd himself. It is an easy matter to verify. His body is still available."
"But why? What would be the point of it. You're surely not suggesting suicide, Mr. Poirot?"
"Ah! no. My theory is that the murderer wore gloves
[148]
