“Miss Ackroyd,” I said, “wants you to—to——”
“To find the murderer,” said Flora in a clear voice.
“I see,” said the little man. “But the police will do that, will they not?”
“They might make a mistake,” said Flora. “They are on their way to make a mistake now, I think. Please, M. Poirot, won’t you help us? If—if it is a question of money——”
Poirot held up his hand.
“Not that, I beg of you, mademoiselle. Not that I do not care for money.” His eyes showed a momentary twinkle. “Money, it means much to me and always has done. No, if I go into this, you must understand one thing clearly. I shall go through with it to the end. The good dog, he does not leave the scent, remember! You may wish that, after all, you had left it to the local police.”
“I want the truth,” said Flora, looking him straight in the eyes.
“All the truth?”
“All the truth.”
“Then I accept,” said the little man quietly. “And I hope you will not regret those words. Now, tell me all the circumstances.”