great relief to people to be able to tell all their troubles to some one.
"It might be," I said, "if they were ever allowed to do so spontaneously. Whether they enjoy having confidences screwed out of them by force is another matter."
Caroline merely looked at me with the air of a Christian martyr enjoying martyrdom.
"You are so self-contained, James," she said. "You hate speaking out, or parting with any information yourself, and you think everybody else must be just like you. I should hope that I never screw confidences out of anybody. For instance, if M. Poirot comes in this afternoon, as he said he might do, I shall not dream of asking him who it was arrived at his house early this morning."
"Early this morning?" I queried.
"Very early," said Caroline. "Before the milk came. I just happened to be looking out of the window—the blind was flapping. It was a man. He came in a closed car, and he was all muffled up. I couldn't get a glimpse of his face. But I will tell you my idea, and you'll see that I'm right."
"What's your idea?"
Caroline dropped her voice mysteriously.
"A Home Office expert," she breathed.
"A Home Office expert," I said, amazed. "My dear Caroline!"
"Mark my words, James, you'll see that I'm right. That Russell woman was here that morning after your poisons. Roger Ackroyd might easily have been poisoned in his food that night."
[253]
