A gasp broke from Parker.
“The master? Murdered? Impossible, sir!”
It was my turn to stare.
“Didn’t you telephone to me, not five minutes ago, and tell me that Mr. Ackroyd had been found murdered?”
“Me, sir? Oh! no indeed, sir. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”
“Do you mean to say it’s all a hoax? That there’s nothing the matter with Mr. Ackroyd?”
“Excuse me, sir, did the person telephoning use my name?”
“I’ll give you the exact words I heard. ‘Is that Dr. Sheppard? Parker, the butler at Fernly, speaking. Will you please come at once, sir. Mr. Ackroyd has been murdered.’”
Parker and I stared at each other blankly.
“A very wicked joke to play, sir,” he said at last, in a shocked tone. “Fancy saying a thing like that.”