ten.”

 

I saw the color drain from the housekeeper’s face, leaving it dead white. She

leaned forward, her figure swaying.

 

“But Miss Ackroyd said—Miss Ackroyd said——”

 

“Miss Ackroyd has admitted that she was lying. She was never in the study at all

that evening.”

 

“Then——?”

 

“Then it would seem that in this Charles Kent we have the man we are looking

for. He came to Fernly, can give no account of what he was doing there——”

 

“I can tell you what he was doing there. He never touched a hair of old

Ackroyd’s head—he never went near the study. He didn’t do it, I tell you.”

 

She was leaning forward. That iron self-control was broken through at last.

Terror and desperation were in her face.

 

“M. Poirot! M. Poirot! Oh, do believe me.”

 

Poirot got up and came to her. He patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.