a very important clew.” He turned to the butler. “You say, Parker, that nobody

was admitted by the front door this evening?”

 

“That’s what I say, sir.”

 

“Then it seems almost certain that Mr. Ackroyd himself must have admitted this

stranger. But I don’t quite see——”

 

The inspector went into a kind of day-dream for some minutes.

 

“One thing’s clear,” he said at length, rousing himself from his absorption.

“Mr. Ackroyd was alive and well at nine-thirty. That is the last moment at which

he is known to have been alive.”

 

Parker gave vent to an apologetic cough which brought the inspector’s eyes on

him at once.

 

“Well?” he said sharply.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, Miss Flora saw him after that.”

 

“Miss Flora?”

 

“Yes, sir. About a quarter to ten that would be. It was after that that she told

me Mr. Ackroyd wasn’t to be disturbed again to-night.”