THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
He held out to me the little quill. I looked at it curiously, Then a memory of something I had read stirred in me.
Poirot, who had been watching my face, nodded.
"Yes, heroin 'snow.' Drug-takers carry it like this, and sniff it up the nose."
"Diamorphine hydrochloride," I murmured mechanically.
"This method of taking the drug is very common on the other side. Another proof, if we wanted one, that the man came from Canada or the States."
"What first attracted your attention to that summer-house?" I asked curiously.
"My friend the inspector took it for granted that any one using that path did so as a short cut to the house, but as soon as I saw the summer-house, I realized that the same path would be taken by any one using the summer-house as a rendezvous. Now it seems fairly certain that the stranger came neither to the front nor to the back door. Then did some one from the house go out and meet him? If so, what could be a more convenient place than that little summer-house? I searched it with the hope that I might find some clew inside. I found two, the scrap of cambric and the quill."
"And the scrap of cambric?" I asked curiously. "What about that?"
Poirot raised his eyebrows.
"You do not use your little gray cells," he remarked dryly. "The scrap of starched cambric should be obvious."
[160]
