evening that I had to look for my criminal. Therefore I concluded that the

telephone call must have been sent by an accomplice.

 

I was not quite pleased with that deduction, but I let it stand for the minute.

 

“I next examined the _motive_ for the call. That was difficult. I could only get

at it by judging its _result_. Which was—that the murder was discovered that

night instead of—in all probability—the following morning. You agree with that?”

 

“Ye-es,” I admitted. “Yes. As you say, Mr. Ackroyd, having given orders that he

was not to be disturbed, nobody would have been likely to go to the study that

night.”

 

“_Très bien._ The affair marches, does it not? But matters were still obscure.

What was the advantage of having the crime discovered that night in preference

to the following morning? The only idea I could get hold of was that the

murderer, knowing the crime was to be discovered at a certain time, could make

sure of being present when the door was broken in—or at any rate immediately

afterwards. And now we come to the second fact—the chair pulled out from the

wall. Inspector Raglan dismissed that as of no importance. I, on the contrary,

have always regarded it as of supreme importance.

 

“In your manuscript you have drawn a neat little plan of the study.

 

If you had it with you this minute you would see that—the chair being drawn out