“Well, if you will have it so, that’s all there is to it. Now, Miss Ackroyd, M.

Poirot here has made a certain suggestion to me. He suggests that you weren’t in

the study at all last Friday night, that you never saw Mr. Ackroyd to say

good-night to him, that instead of being in the study you were on the stairs

leading down from your uncle’s bedroom when you heard Parker coming across the

hall.”

 

Flora’s gaze shifted to Poirot. He nodded back at her.

 

“Mademoiselle, the other day, when we sat round the table, I implored you to be

frank with me. What one does not tell to Papa Poirot he finds out. It was that,

was it not? See, I will make it easy for you. You took the money, did you not?”

 

“The money,” said Blunt sharply.

 

There was a silence which lasted for at least a minute.

 

Then Flora drew herself up and spoke.

 

“M. Poirot is right. I took that money. I stole. I am a thief—yes, a common,

vulgar little thief. Now you know! I am glad it has come out.

 

It’s been a nightmare, these last few days!” She sat down suddenly and buried

her face in her hands. She spoke huskily through her fingers. “You don’t know

what my life has been since I came here. Wanting things, scheming for them,