The inspector stared at him heavily.
"I don't see how you make that out. Look here, we know Mr. Ackroyd was alive at a quarter to ten. You admit that, don't you?"
Poirot looked at him for a moment, then shook his head with a quick smile.
"I admit nothing that is not—proved!"
"Well, we've got proof enough of that. We've got Miss Flora Ackroyd's evidence."
"That she said good-night to her uncle? But me—I do not always believe what a young lady tells me—no, not even when she is charming and beautiful."
"But hang it all, man, Parker saw her coming out of the door."
"No." Poirot's voice rang out with sudden sharpness. "That is just what he did not see. I satisfied myself of that by a little experiment the other day—you remember, doctor? Parker saw her outside the door, with her hand on the handle. He did not see her come out of the room."
"But—where else could she have been?"
"Perhaps on the stairs."
"The stairs?"
"That is my little idea—yes."
"But those stairs only lead to Mr. Ackroyd's bedroom."
"Precisely."
And still the inspector stared.
"You think she'd been up to her uncle's bedroom? Well, why not? Why should she lie about it?"
[229]
