“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Ackroyd vaguely. “Of course, my dear, of course. He is to find Ralph, is he not?”
“He is to find out who killed uncle,” said Flora.
“Oh! my dear,” cried her mother. “Please! My poor nerves. I am a wreck this morning, a positive wreck. Such a dreadful thing to happen. I can’t help feeling that it must have been an accident of some kind. Roger was so fond of handling queer curios. His hand must have slipped, or something.”
This theory was received in polite silence. I saw Poirot edge up to the lawyer, and speak to him in a confidential undertone. They moved aside into the embrasure of the window. I joined them—then hesitated.
“Perhaps I’m intruding,” I said.
“Not at all,” cried Poirot heartily. “You and I, M. le docteur, we investigate this affair side by side. Without you I should be lost. I desire a little information from the good Mr. Hammond.”
“You are acting on behalf of Captain Ralph Paton, I understand,” said the lawyer cautiously.
Poirot shook his head.
“Not so. I am acting in the interests of justice. Miss Ackroyd has asked me to investigate the death of her uncle.”
Mr. Hammond seemed slightly taken aback.