THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
"Ah!" said Poirot regretfully. "That is a pity."
And he seemed quite crestfallen.
He entered into no explanations, but at once started a new subject of conversation.
"The housekeeper, Miss Russell, who came to consult you on that Friday morning—is it indiscreet to ask what passed at the interview—apart from the medical details, I mean?"
"Not at all," I said. "When the professional part of the conversation was over, we talked for a few minutes about poisons, and the ease or difficulty of detecting them, and about drug-taking and drug-takers."
"With special reference to cocaine?" asked Poirot.
"How did you know?" I asked, somewhat surprised.
For answer, the little man rose and crossed the room to where newspapers were filed. He brought me a copy of the Daily Budget, dated Friday, 16th September, and showed me an article dealing with the smuggling of cocaine. It was a somewhat lurid article, written with an eye to picturesque effect.
"That is what put cocaine into her head, my friend," he said.
I would have catechized him further, for I did not quite understand his meaning, but at that moment the door opened and Geoffrey Raymond was announced.
He came in fresh and debonair as ever, and greeted us both.
"How are you, doctor? M. Poirot, this is the second time I've been here this morning. I was anxious to catch you."
[182]
