just. Of facts, I keep nothing to myself. But to every one his own interpretation of them."
"When do you want me to do this?"
"Now, if you will. We are close to the house."
"Aren't you coming in?"
"No, me, I will promenade myself in the grounds. I will rejoin you by the lodge gates in a quarter of an hour's time."
I nodded, and set off on my task. The only member of the family at home proved to be Mrs. Ackroyd, who was sipping an early cup of tea. She received me very graciously.
"So grateful to you, doctor," she murmured, "for clearing up that little matter with M. Poirot. But life is one trouble after another. You have heard about Flora, of course?"
"What exactly?" I asked cautiously.
"This new engagement. Flora and Hector Blunt. Of course not such a good match as Ralph would have been. But after all, happiness comes first. What dear Flora needs is an older man—some one steady and reliable, and then Hector is really a very distinguished man in his way. You saw the news of Ralph's arrest in the paper this morning?"
"Yes," I said, "I did."
"Horrible." Mrs. Ackroyd closed her eyes and shuddered. "Geoffrey Raymond was in a terrible way. Rang up Liverpool. But they wouldn't tell him anything at the police station there. In fact, they said they hadn't arrested Ralph at all. Mr. Raymond insists that it's all
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