“To make a confusing case even more confusing.”
“Well,” said the inspector, “I’ll look into it. What gave you the idea in the first place?”
“When you were so kind as to show me the dagger and draw attention to the fingerprints. I know very little of loops and whorls—see, I confess my ignorance frankly. But it did occur to me that the position of the prints was somewhat awkward. Not so would I have held a dagger in order to strike. Naturally, with the right hand brought up over the shoulder backwards, it would have been difficult to put it in exactly the right position.”
Inspector Raglan stared at the little man. Poirot, with an air of great unconcern, flecked a speck of dust from his coat sleeve.
“Well,” said the inspector, “it’s an idea. I’ll look into it all right, but don’t you be disappointed if nothing comes of it.”
He endeavored to make his tone kindly and patronizing. Poirot watched him go off. Then he turned to me with twinkling eyes.
“Another time,” he observed, “I must be more careful of his amour propre. And now that we are left to our own devices, what do you think, my good friend, of a little reunion of the family?”
The “little reunion,” as Poirot called it, took place about half an hour later. We sat round the table in the dining-room at Fernly—Poirot at the head of the table, like the chairman of some ghastly board meeting. The servants were not present, so we were six in all. Mrs. Ackroyd, Flora, Major Blunt, young Raymond, Poirot, and myself.
When every one was assembled, Poirot rose and bowed.
“Messieurs, mesdames, I have called you together for a certain purpose.” He paused. “To begin with, I want to make a very special plea to mademoiselle.”