THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
"Ralph," said Caroline. "What has Ralph got to do with it?"
Neither of us heeded her.
"Ralph may be weak," continued Flora. "He may have done foolish things in the past—wicked things even—but he wouldn't murder any one."
"No, no," I exclaimed. "I never thought it of him."
"Then why did you go to the Three Boars last night?" demanded Flora, "on your way home—after uncle's body was found?"
I was momentarily silenced. I had hoped that that visit of mine would remain unnoticed.
"How did you know about that?" I countered.
"I went there this morning," said Flora. "I heard from the servants that Ralph was staying there———"
I interrupted her.
"You had no idea that he was in King's Abbot?"
"No. I was astounded. I couldn't understand it. I went there and asked for him. They told me, what I suppose they told you last night, that he went out at about nine o'clock yesterday evening—and—and never came back."
Her eyes met mine defiantly, and as though answering something in my look, she burst out:—
"Well, why shouldn't he? He might have gone—anywhere. He may even have gone back to London."
"Leaving his luggage behind?" I asked gently.
Flora stamped her foot.
"I don't care. There must be a simple explanation."
"And that's why you want to go to Hercule Poirot?
[78]
