Poirot leaned forward and shot the last words triumphantly at us, drawing back afterwards with the air of one who has made a decided hit.
Raymond, however, did not seem impressed, and lodged a mild protest.
“I don’t know if you’re trying to make me out a liar, M. Poirot, but the matter does not rest on my evidence alone—except perhaps as to the exact words used. Remember, Major Blunt also heard Mr. Ackroyd talking to some one. He was on the terrace outside, and couldn’t catch the words clearly, but he distinctly heard the voices.”
Poirot nodded.
“I have not forgotten,” he said quietly. “But Major Blunt was under the impression that it was you to whom Mr. Ackroyd was speaking.”
For a moment Raymond seemed taken aback. Then he recovered himself.
“Blunt knows now that he was mistaken,” he said.
“Exactly,” agreed the other man.
“Yet there must have been some reason for his thinking so,” mused Poirot. “Oh! no,” he held up his hand in protest, “I know the reason you will give—but it is not enough. We must seek elsewhere. I will put it this way. From the beginning of the case I have been struck by one thing—the nature of those words which Mr. Raymond overheard. It has been amazing to me that no one has commented on them—has seen anything odd about them.”
He paused a minute, and then quoted softly:—