Агата Кристи - The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

• Название: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда
• Автор: Агата Кристи
• Жанр: Классические детективы
• Год: 2022
• ISBN: 978-5-04-166489-3

Убит помещик Роджер Экройд, и Эркюль Пуаро начинает расследование, имея вокруг множество подозреваемых – родственников и знакомых Экройда, каждый из которых был заинтересован в его смерти. Повествование ведется от имени доктора Шеппарда, последнего, кто видел помещика живым. С помощью записей доктора Шеппарда Пуаро предстоит вычислить хитроумного преступника… В формате PDF A4 сохранен издательский макет.

---

‘Not the Porcupine oilfields?’ he asked suddenly.

I stared.

‘I thought of them, as a matter of fact, but in the end I plumped for a gold mine in Western Australia.’

My neighbour was regarding me with a strange expression which I could not fathom.

‘It is fate,’ he said at last.

‘What is fate?’ I asked irritably.

‘That I should live next to a man who seriously considers Porcupine oilfields, and also West Australian gold Mines. Tell me, have you also a penchant for auburn hair?’

I stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing.

‘No, no, it is not the insanity that I suffer from. Make your mind easy. It was a foolish question that I put to you there, for, you see, my friend of whom I spoke was a young man, a man who thought all women good, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, a doctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in this life of ours. Well, well, we are neighbours. I beg of you to accept and present to your excellent sister my best marrow.’

He stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of the tribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered.

‘Indeed,’ said the little man cheerfully, ‘this has not been a wasted morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a question. you doubtless know everyone in this tiny village. Who is the young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. he walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?’

The description left me in no doubt.

‘That must be captain Ralph Paton,’ I said slowly.

‘I have not seen him about here before?’

‘No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son – adopted son, rather – of Mr Ackroyd of Fernly Park.’

My neighbour made a slight gesture of impatience.

‘Of course, I should have guessed. Mr Ackroyd spoke of him many times.’

‘You know Mr Ackroyd?’ I said, slightly surprised.

‘Mr Ackroyd knew me in London – when I was at work there. I have asked him to say nothing of my profession down here.’

‘I see,’ I said, rather amused by this patent snobbery, as I thought it.

But the little man went on with an almost grandiloquent smirk.

‘One prefers to remain incognito. I am not anxious for notoriety. I have not even troubled to correct the local version of my name.’

‘Indeed,’ I said, not knowing quite what to say.

‘Captain Ralph Paton,’ mused Mr Porrott. ‘And so he is engaged to Mr Ackroyd’s niece, the charming Miss Flora.’

‘Who told you so?’ I asked, very much surprised.

‘Mr Ackroyd. About a week ago. he is very pleased about it – has long desired that such a thing should come to pass, or so I understood from him. I even believe that he brought some pressure to bear upon the young man. That is never wise. A young man should marry to please himself – not to please a stepfather from whom he has expectations.’

My ideas were completely upset. I could not see Ackroyd taking a hairdresser into his confidence, and discussing the marriage of his niece and stepson with him. Ackroyd extends a genial patronage to the lower orders, but he has a very great sense of his own dignity. I began to think that Porrott couldn’t be a hairdresser after all.

To hide my confusion, I said the first thing that came into my head.

‘What made you notice Ralph Paton? His good looks?’

‘No, not that alone – though he is unusually good-looking for an Englishman – what your lady novelists would call a greek god. No, there was something about that young man that I did not understand.’

He said the last sentence in a musing tone of voice which made an indefinable impression upon me. It was as though he was summing up the boy by the light of some inner knowledge that I did not share. It was that impression that was left with me, for at that moment my sister’s voice called me from the house.

I went in. Caroline had her hat on, and had evidently just come in from the village.

She began without preamble. ‘I met Mr Ackroyd.’

‘Yes?’ I said.

‘I stopped him, of course, but he seemed in a great hurry, and anxious to get away.’

I have no doubt but that that was the case. he would feel towards Caroline much as he had felt towards Miss Gannett earlier in the day – perhaps more so. Caroline is less easy to shake off.

‘I asked him at once about ralph. he was absolutely astonished. had no idea the boy was down here. he actually said he thought I must have made a mistake. I! A mistake!’

‘Ridiculous,’ I said. ‘he ought to have known you better.’

‘Then he went on to tell me that ralph and flora are engaged.’

‘I knew that, too,’ I interrupted, with modest pride.

‘Who told you?’

‘Our new neighbour.’

Caroline visibly wavered for a second or two, much as if a roulette ball might coyly hover between two numbers. Then she declined the tempting red herring.

‘I told Mr Ackroyd that ralph was staying at the Three Boars.’

‘Caroline,’ I said, ‘do you never reflect that you might do a lot of harm with this habit of yours of repeating everything indiscriminately?’

‘Nonsense,’ said my sister. ‘People ought to know things. I consider it my duty to tell them. Mr Ackroyd was very grateful to me.’

‘Well,’ I said, for there was clearly more to come.

‘I think he went straight off to the Three Boars, but if so he didn’t find ralph there.’

‘No?’

‘No. Because as I was coming back through the wood-’

‘Сoming back through the wood?’ I interrupted.

Сaroline had the grace to blush.

‘It was such a lovely day,’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought I would make a little round. The woods with their autumnal tints are so perfect at this time of year.’

Сaroline does not care a hang for woods at any time of year. Normally she regards them as places where you get your feet damp, and where all kinds of unpleasant things may drop on your head. No, it was good sound mongoose instinct which took her to our local wood. It is the only place adjacent to the village of king’s Abbot where you can talk with a young woman unseen by the whole of the village. It adjoins the Park of Fernly.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘go on.’

‘As I say, I was just coming back through the wood when I heard voices.’

Caroline paused.

‘Yes?’

‘One was Ralph Paton’s – I knew it at once. The other was a girl’s. Of course I didn’t mean to listen – ’

‘Of course not,’ I interjected, with patent sarcasm- which was, however, wasted on Caroline.

‘But I simply couldn’t help overhearing. The girl said something – I didn’t quite catch what it was, and ralph answered. he sounded very angry. ‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘Don’t you realize that it is quite on the cards the old man will cut me off with a shilling? He’s been pretty fed up with me for the last few years. A little more would do it. And we need the dibs, my dear. I shall be a very rich man when the old fellow pops off. he’s mean as they make ’em, but he’s rolling in money really. I don’t want him to go altering his will. you leave it to me, and don’t worry.’ Those were his exact words. I remember them perfectly. unfortunately, just then I stepped on a dry twig or something, and they lowered their voices and moved away. I couldn’t, of course, go rushing after them, so wasn’t able to see who the girl was.’

‘That must have been most vexing,’ I said. ‘I suppose, though, you hurried on to the Three Boars, felt faint, and went into the bar for a glass of brandy, and so were able to see if both the barmaids were on duty?’

‘It wasn’t a barmaid,’ said Сaroline unhesitatingly. ‘In fact, I’m almost sure that it was flora Ackroyd, only-’

‘Only it doesn’t seem to make sense,’ I agreed.

‘But if it wasn’t flora, who could it have been?’

Rapidly my sister ran over a list of maidens living in the neighbourhood, with profuse reasons for and against. When she paused for breath, I murmured something about a patient, and slipped out.

I proposed to make my way to the Three Boars. It seemed likely that Ralph Paton would have returned there by now.

I knew Ralph very well – better, perhaps, than anyone else in King’s Abbot, for I had known his mother before him, and therefore I understood much in him that puzzled others. He was, to a certain extent, the victim of heredity. He had not inherited his mother’s fatal propensity for drink, but nevertheless he had in him a strain of weakness. As my new friend of this morning had declared, he was extraordinarily handsome. Just on six feet, perfectly proportioned, with the easy grace of an athlete, he was dark, like his mother, with a handsome, sunburnt face always ready to break into a smile. Ralph Paton was of those born to charm easily and without effort. He was selfindulgent and extravagant, with no veneration for anything on earth, but he was lovable nevertheless, and his friends were all devoted to him.

Could I do anything with the boy? I thought I could.

On inquiry at the Three Boars I found that captain Paton had just come in. I went up to his room and entered unannounced.

For a moment, remembering what I had heard and seen, I was doubtful of my reception, but I need have had no misgivings.

‘Why, it’s Sheppard! Glad to see you.’ He came forward to meet me, hand outstretched, a sunny smile lighting up his face. ‘The one person I am glad to see in this infernal place.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘What’s the place been doing?’

He gave a vexed laugh. ‘It’s a long story. Things haven’t been going well with me, doctor. But have a drink, won’t you?’

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I will.’

He pressed the bell, then coming back threw himself into a chair.

‘Not to mince matters,’ he said gloomily, ‘I’m in the devil of a mess. In fact, I haven’t the least idea what to do next.’

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked sympathetically.

‘It’s my confounded stepfather.’

‘What has he done?’

‘It isn’t what he’s done yet, but what he’s likely to do.’

The bell was answered, and Ralph ordered the drinks. When the man had gone again, he sat hunched in the armchair, frowning to himself.

‘Is it really – serious?’ I asked.

He nodded.

‘I’m fairly up against it this time,’ he said soberly.

The unusual ring of gravity in his voice told me that he spoke the truth. It took a good deal to make Ralph grave.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘I can’t see my way ahead… I’m damned if I can.’

‘If I could help – ’ I suggested diffidently.

But he shook his head very decidedly.

‘Good of you, doctor. But I can’t let you in on this. I’ve got to play a lone hand.’ he was silent a minute and then repeated in a slightly different tone of voice: ‘Yes – I’ve got to play a lone hand…’

Chapter 4 Dinner at Fernly

It was just a few minutes before half-past seven when I rang the front-door bell of fernly Park. The door was opened with admirable promptitude by Parker, the butler.

The night was such a fine one that I had preferred to come on foot. I stepped into the big square hall and Parker relieved me of my overcoat. Just then Ackroyd’s secretary, a pleasant young fellow by the name of Raymond, passed through the hall on his way to Ackroyd’s study, his hands full of papers.

‘Good evening, doctor. Coming to dine? Or is this a professional call?’

The last was in allusion to my black bag which I had laid down on the oak chest.

I explained that I expected a summons to a confinement case at any moment, and so had come out prepared for an emergency call. Raymond nodded, and went on his way, calling over his shoulder:

‘Go into the drawing-room. you know the way. The ladies will be down in a minute. I must just take these papers to Mr Ackroyd, and I’ll tell him you’re here.’

On Raymond’s appearance Parker had withdrawn, so I was alone in the hall. I settled my tie, glanced in a large mirror which hung there, and crossed to the door directly facing me, which was, as I knew, the door of the drawing-room.

I noticed, just as I was turning the handle, a sound from within – the shutting down of a window, I took it to be. I noticed it, I may say, quite mechanically, without attaching any importance to it at the time.

I opened the door and walked in. As I did so I almost collided with Miss Russell who was just coming out. We both apologized.

For the first time I found myself appraising the house-keeper and thinking what a handsome woman she must once have been – indeed, as far as that goes, still was. her dark hair was unstreaked with grey, and when she had a colour, as she had at this minute, the stern quality of her looks was not so apparent.

Quite subconsciously I wondered whether she had been out, for she was breathing hard, as though she had been running.

‘I’m afraid I’m a few minutes early,’ I said.

‘Oh! I don’t think so. It’s gone half-past seven, dr Sheppard.’ She paused a minute before saying, ‘I – didn’t know you were expected to dinner tonight. Mr Ackroyd didn’t mention it.’

I received a vague impression that my dining there displeased her in some way, but I couldn’t imagine why.

‘How’s the knee?’ I inquired.

‘Much the same, thank you, doctor. I must be going now. Mrs Ackroyd will be down in a moment. I–I only came in here to see if the flowers were all right.’

She passed quickly out of the room. I strolled to the window, wondering at her evident desire to justify her presence in the room. As I did so, I saw what, of course, I might have known all the time had I troubled to give my mind to it, namely, that the windows were long french ones opening on the terrace. The sound I had heard, therefore, could not have been that of a window being shut down.

Quite idly, and more to distract my mind from painful thoughts than for any other reason, I amused myself by trying to guess what could have caused the sound in question. Coals on the fire? No, that was not the kind of noise at all. A drawer of a bureau pushed in? No, not that.

Then my eye was caught by what, I believe, is called a silver table, the lid of which lifts, and through the glass of which you can see the contents. I crossed over to it, studying the contents. There were one or two pieces of old silver, a baby shoe belonging to king Charles the first, some chinese jade figures, and quite a number of African implements and curios. Wanting to examine one of the jade figures more closely, I lifted the lid. It slipped through my fingers and fell.

At once I recognized the sound I had heard. It was this same table lid being shut down gently and carefully. I repeated the action once or twice for my own satisfaction. Then I lifted the lid to scrutinize the contents more closely.