“I couldn’t begin to imagine. You think so many extraordinary things.”

 

“It’s no good being sarcastic. I think Miss Russell knows more about Mr.

Ackroyd’s death than she is prepared to admit.”

 

Caroline leaned back triumphantly in her chair.

 

“Do you really think so?” I said absently.

 

“You are very dull to-day, James. No animation about you. It’s that liver of

yours.”

 

Our conversation then dealt with purely personal matters.

 

The paragraph inspired by Poirot duly appeared in our daily paper the next

morning. I was in the dark as to its purpose, but its effect on Caroline was

immense.

 

She began by stating, most untruly, that she had said as much all along. I

raised my eyebrows, but did not argue. Caroline, however, must have felt a prick

of conscience, for she went on:—

 

“I mayn’t have actually mentioned Liverpool, but I knew he’d try to get away to

America. That’s what Crippen did.”