Elsie Dale was a big fair girl, with a pleasant but slightly stupid face. She

answered our questions readily enough, and showed much distress and concern at

the loss of the money.

 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her,” observed the inspector, after

he had dismissed her.

 

“What about Parker?”

 

Miss Russell pursed her lips together and made no reply.

 

“I’ve a feeling there’s something wrong about that man,” the inspector continued

thoughtfully. “The trouble is that I don’t quite see when he got his

opportunity. He’d be busy with his duties immediately after dinner, and he’s got

a pretty good alibi all through the evening. I know, for I’ve been devoting

particular attention to it. Well, thank you very much, Miss Russell. We’ll leave

things as they are for the present. It’s highly probable Mr. Ackroyd paid that

money away himself.”

 

The housekeeper bade us a dry good-afternoon, and we took our leave.

 

I left the house with Poirot.

 

“I wonder,” I said, breaking the silence, “what the papers the girl disarranged