“There may be. It all depends. If I am able to declare myself absolutely

satisfied that the overdose was taken accidentally, an inquest might be

dispensed with.”

 

“And are you absolutely satisfied?” asked my sister shrewdly.

 

I did not answer, but got up from table.

 

CHAPTER II

 

WHO’S WHO IN KING’S ABBOT

 

Before I proceed further with what I said to Caroline and what Caroline said to

me, it might be as well to give some idea of what I should describe as our local

geography. Our village, King’s Abbot, is, I imagine, very much like any other

village. Our big town is Cranchester, nine miles away. We have a large railway

station, a small post office, and two rival “General Stores.” Able-bodied men

are apt to leave the place early in life, but we are rich in unmarried ladies

and retired military officers. Our hobbies and recreations can be summed up in

the one word, “gossip.”

 

There are only two houses of any importance in King’s Abbot. One is King’s

Paddock, left to Mrs. Ferrars by her late husband. The other, Fernly Park, is

owned by Roger Ackroyd. Ackroyd has always interested me by being a man more

impossibly like a country squire than any country squire could really be. He