“What woman?”

 

“That Russell woman. Something very queer about her, and so I’ve always said.

But Roger wouldn’t hear a word against her. Said she was a woman of great force

of character, and that he admired and respected her.

 

He was always going on about her rectitude and independence and moral worth. _I_

think there’s something fishy about her. She was certainly doing her best to

marry Roger. But I soon put a stop to that. She’s always hated me. Naturally.

_I_ saw through her.”

 

I began to wonder if there was any chance of stemming Mrs. Ackroyd’s eloquence,

and getting away.

 

Mr. Hammond provided the necessary diversion by coming up to say good-by. I

seized my chance and rose also.

 

“About the inquest,” I said. “Where would you prefer it to be held.

 

Here, or at the Three Boars?”

 

Mrs. Ackroyd stared at me with a dropped jaw.

 

“The inquest?” she asked, the picture of consternation. “But surely there won’t