Ralph Paton is hiding?”

 

The girl rose, and stood facing him.

 

“M. Poirot,” she said in a clear voice, “I swear to you—swear solemnly—that I

have no idea where Ralph is, and that I have neither seen him nor heard from him

either on the day of—of the murder, or since.”

 

She sat down again. Poirot gazed at her in silence for a minute or two, then he

brought his hand down on the table with a sharp rap.

 

“_Bien!_ That is that,” he said. His face hardened. “Now I appeal to these

others who sit round this table, Mrs. Ackroyd, Major Blunt, Dr.

 

Sheppard, Mr. Raymond. You are all friends and intimates of the missing man. If

you know where Ralph Paton is hiding, speak out.”

 

There was a long silence. Poirot looked to each in turn.

 

“I beg of you,” he said in a low voice, “speak out.”

 

But still there was silence, broken at last by Mrs. Ackroyd.

 

“I must say,” she observed in a plaintive voice, “that Ralph’s absence is most

peculiar—most peculiar indeed. Not to come forward at such a time. It looks, you