Parker was staring at him open-mouthed. The man had gone to pieces, his cheeks shook flabbily.
“You see, me, I have made inquiries,” said Poirot pleasantly. “It is as I say. You got a good sum then as blackmail, and Major Ellerby went on paying you until he died. Now I want to hear about your latest experiment.”
Parker still stared.
“It is useless to deny. Hercule Poirot knows. It is so, what I have said about Major Ellerby, is it not?”
As though against his will, Parker nodded reluctantly once. His face was ashen pale.
“But I never hurt a hair of Mr. Ackroyd’s head,” he moaned. “Honest to God, sir, I didn’t. I’ve been afraid of this coming all the time. And I tell you I didn’t—I didn’t kill him.”
His voice rose almost to a scream.
“I am inclined to believe you, my friend,” said Poirot. “You have not the nerve—the courage. But I must have the truth.”
“I’ll tell you anything, sir, anything you want to know. It’s true that I tried to listen that night. A word or two I heard made me curious. And Mr. Ackroyd’s wanting not to be disturbed, and shutting himself up with the doctor the way he did. It’s God’s own truth what I told the police. I heard the word blackmail, sir, and well——”
He paused.