“This new engagement. Flora and Hector Blunt. Of course not such a good match as

Ralph would have been. But after all, happiness comes first.

 

What dear Flora needs is an older man—some one steady and reliable, and then

Hector is really a very distinguished man in his way. You saw the news of

Ralph’s arrest in the paper this morning?”

 

“Yes,” I said, “I did.”

 

“Horrible.” Mrs. Ackroyd closed her eyes and shuddered. “Geoffrey Raymond was in

a terrible way. Rang up Liverpool. But they wouldn’t tell him anything at the

police station there. In fact, they said they hadn’t arrested Ralph at all. Mr.

Raymond insists that it’s all a mistake—a—what do they call it?—_canard_ of the

newspaper’s. I’ve forbidden it to be mentioned before the servants. Such a

terrible disgrace. Fancy if Flora had actually been married to him.”

 

Mrs. Ackroyd shut her eyes in anguish. I began to wonder how soon I should be

able to deliver Poirot’s invitation.

 

Before I had time to speak, Mrs. Ackroyd was off again.

 

“You were here yesterday, weren’t you, with that dreadful Inspector Raglan?

Brute of a man—he terrified Flora into saying she took that money from poor

Roger’s room. And the matter was so simple, really. The dear child wanted to