“M. Raymond, this chair was pulled out—so—last night when Mr. Ackroyd was found

killed. Some one moved it back again into place. Did you do so?”

 

The secretary’s reply came without a second’s hesitation.

 

“No, indeed I didn’t. I don’t even remember that it was in that position, but it

must have been if you say so. Anyway, somebody else must have moved it back to

its proper place. Have they destroyed a clew in doing so? Too bad!”

 

“It is of no consequence,” said the detective. “Of no consequence whatever. What

I really want to ask you is this, M. Raymond: Did any stranger come to see Mr.

Ackroyd during this past week?”

 

The secretary reflected for a minute or two, knitting his brows, and during the

pause Parker appeared in answer to the bell.

 

“No,” said Raymond at last. “I can’t remember any one. Can you, Parker?”

 

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

 

“Any stranger coming to see Mr. Ackroyd this week?”

 

The butler reflected for a minute or two.