“Pardon me, what time was this?”
“About half-past nine. I was walking up and down smoking in front of the drawing-room window. I heard Ackroyd talking in his study——”
Poirot stooped and removed a microscopic weed.
“Surely you couldn’t hear voices in the study from that part of the terrace,” he murmured.
He was not looking at Blunt, but I was, and to my intense surprise, I saw the latter flush.
“Went as far as the corner,” he explained unwillingly.
“Ah! indeed?” said Poirot.
In the mildest manner he conveyed an impression that more was wanted.
“Thought I saw—a woman disappearing into the bushes. Just a gleam of white, you know. Must have been mistaken. It was while I was standing at the corner of the terrace that I heard Ackroyd’s voice speaking to that secretary of his.”
“Speaking to Mr. Geoffrey Raymond?”