Roger Mystery

Chapter 19 The Living Room Maid (2)
"Where is this money? In his desk?"

"No, he usually keeps his cash in his bedroom. In a collar box, to be precise. Ridiculous?"

"I think," said the lawyer, "before I leave, we'd better go and see if the money is still there."

"No problem," said the secretary, "I'll take you upstairs now... oh, I forgot, the door is still locked."

After questioning Parker, we learn that Inspector Raglan is in the housekeeper's room asking other questions.A few minutes later the Inspector joined us in the lobby with the key.He unlocked it, and we went into the porch and up the narrow staircase that led to the door at the top of Aykroyd's bedroom.The door was open, the room was dimly lit, the curtains were drawn, and the bed was made just as it had been made the night before.The Inspector drew the curtains and let the sunlight pour in.Geoffrey Raymond stepped forward to reach for the top drawer of a rosewood wardrobe.

"Look, he keeps money in unlocked drawers," remarked the inspector.

The secretary's face turned red.

"Mr Ackroyd has complete confidence in the character of his servant." He was a little excited.

"Oh! That is." The inspector hastily corrected himself.

Raymond opened the drawer and took out a leather circular collar box from the deepest part.He opened the lid and pulled out a thick leather wallet.

"Here's the money," he said, drawing out a thick wad of notes. "You count, a hundred pounds. Mr. Ackroyd put the money into this box in front of me last night when he was dressing before dinner." In it. Of course, no one touched it afterward.”

Mr Hammond took the notes and counted them, then looked up suddenly.

"You say it's a hundred pounds, but here's only sixty pounds."

Raymond glared at him. "That's impossible." He jumped forward, snatched the money from Hammond, and counted it aloud.

Hammond was right, the total was sixty pounds.

"But—I don't understand," said the secretary aloud, full of doubts.

Poirot asked: "Did you watch Mr. Ackroyd put the money in last night when he was dressing for dinner? Are you sure he didn't spend some of them first?"

"Certainly not. He even said: 'I don't want to go down to dinner with a hundred pounds and my pockets are bulging.'"

"That's a simple matter," said Poirot. "Either he spent forty pounds last night, or someone stole the money."

"Brief and concise," the Inspector agreed, and turning to Mrs Ackroyd, "Which servants came in last night?"

"I want the maid to come and make the bed."

"Who is she? How well do you know her?"

"She hasn't been here long," said Mrs. Ackroyd. "An ordinary country girl."

"I think it would be best to get the matter out of the way," said the Inspector. "If Mr. Ackroyd spent his own money, I'm afraid it has something to do with the murder mystery. Are the other servants reliable, in your opinion?"

"Oh, I think it's all right."

"Never lost anything before?"

"No."

"No one said resigning, or anything like that?"

"The parlor maid is resigning."

"When did this happen?"

"I remember she said she was going to leave here yesterday."

"Is it proposed to you?"

"Oh no, I don't care about the servants. Miss Russell takes care of the housework."

The inspector thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think I'd better speak to Miss Russell first. I also want to speak to that maid named Dale."

Poirot and I accompanied him to the housekeeper's room.Miss Russell received us with her customary coolness.

Elsie Dale had been at Finley Manor for five months.She was a good girl, quick at her job, reliable, and very good-natured, and would never steal anything that didn't belong to her.

What about the parlor maid?

"She is also very good. She has a quiet personality, is quite educated, and works hard."

"Then why did she resign?"

Miss Russell pursed her lips tightly: "It's none of my business. I know Mr. Ackroyd picked her fault yesterday afternoon. It's her job to clean the study. She probably messed up a few copies on the desk. Documents. Mr Ackroyd lost his temper and she offered to resign on the spot. At least that's what she told me. But you'd better ask in person, wouldn't you?"

The inspector agreed.I had noticed the girl who had served lunch on the sidelines: tall, with brown curly hair pulled back in a tight bun, gray eyes determined.No sooner had the housekeeper called her than she entered the room, standing erect, watching us intently with her gray eyes.

"You are Ursula Byrne?" asked the inspector.

"Yes, sir."

"I heard you're leaving?"

"Yes, sir."

"why?"

"I messed up the papers on Mr Ackroyd's desk. He was very angry, so I said I'd better go. He said the sooner the better."

"Did you go into Mr. Ackroyd's bedroom last night? To tidy up or do something else?"

"No, sir. That's Elsie's job. I've never been in his bedroom."

"I must tell you, girl, that a large sum of money has been lost in Mr Ackroyd's room."

I finally saw how she broke her calm and was irritated.Her whole face turned pale.

"I don't know about the money. If you think I was dismissed by Mr. Ackroyd for stealing money, you'd be very wrong."

"I didn't accuse you of stealing, girl," said the inspector. "Don't lose your temper."

The girl looked at him coldly.

"You can search my things all you want," she said contemptuously, "but it will be useless."

Poirot interrupted abruptly: "Mr. Ackroyd fired you—or you resigned voluntarily. It was yesterday afternoon, didn't it?"

The girl nodded.

"How long did your conversation last?"

"conversation?"

"Yes, your conversation with Mr Ackroyd in the study."

"I... I don't know."

"Twenty minutes? Half an hour?"

"almost."

"It's not beyond this time?"

"Certainly not more than half an hour."

"Thank you, miss."

I looked curiously at Poirot, who was rearranging several objects on the table, straightening them with great precision, his eyes gleaming.

"That's all," said the inspector.

Ursula Byrne was gone.The inspector turned again to Miss Russell.

"How long has she been working? Do you still have her letter of introduction?"

Miss Russell didn't answer the previous question, but went to a nearby cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a bunch of letters that were stuck together.She selected one of them and handed it to the inspector.

"Well," said the Inspector, "seems all right. Mrs. Richard Friot, of Malby Farm, Malby Town. Who is this woman?"

"Very good country folk," said Miss Russell.

"Well," said the inspector, returning the letter to her, "we'll see another one, Elsie Dale."

Elsie Dale was a tall, fair-haired girl, pleasant-looking, but a little goofy.She answered our questions quickly and showed great concern and anxiety about the loss of money.

"I don't see what's wrong with her," said the inspector, after dismissing her. "How's Parker?"

Miss Russell pursed her lips again, and made no reply.

"I always thought there was something wrong with the man," mused the Inspector, "but the trouble is, I don't see when he gets a chance to do it. He's busy after dinner, and has a perfect alibi all evening." I've been following his movements closely so I'm pretty sure. Well, thank you very much, Miss Russell. We'll put that aside for now. It's likely that Mr Ackroyd himself spent the money .”

The housekeeper said good afternoon indifferently, and we took our leave.

I left Finlay Park with Poirot.

"I'm wondering," I took the initiative to break the silence, "What kind of document did the girl mess up to make Aykroyd so furious? Maybe there are clues to solve this mystery."

"But the secretary said that there are no particularly important documents on the table."

"Yes, but—" I stopped.

"Is it strange that Aykroyd is so angry about such a small matter?"

"Yeah, I can't figure it out."

"But is it really just a small thing?"

"Of course," I admitted, "we don't know what exactly those documents are, but Raymond is pretty sure—"

"Forget about Raymond. What do you think of the girl?"

"Which one? The parlor maid?"

"Yes, parlor-maid, Ursula Byrne."

"Seems fine." I said hesitantly.

Poirot repeated my words, but I put the emphasis on the word "good", while he put the emphasis on "seems".

"Seems fine—yes."

Then, after a moment of silence, he took something out of his pocket and handed it to me.

"My friend, I'll show you something. Look here."

It was the list that the Inspector had made this morning that he had thrust in.Following his fingertips, I noticed a small "X" next to Ursula Byrne's name.

"My dear friend, you may not have noticed at the time, but in the whole list there is only one person whose alibi has not been confirmed, and that is Ursula Byrne."

"You don't think she—"

"I dare imagine anything, Dr Sheppard. It is possible that Ursula Byrne could have killed Mr Ackroyd, but I confess there is absolutely no motive for her. Can you?"

He was staring at me—that intense gaze made me uncomfortable.

"Can you?" he repeated.

"No motive," I said with absolute certainty.

His eyes relaxed, and he frowned and said to himself: "Since the blackmailer is male, it can't be her. Then—"

I coughed.

"Speaking of which—" I stammered.

He turned abruptly to face me.

"What? What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just that, strictly speaking, Mrs. Ferrars only mentioned one person in her letter--not a man explicitly. But Ackroyd and I both believe that the fellow is a man." .”

Poirot didn't seem to have listened to me.He muttered to himself again: "But then the possibility exists—yes, it is absolutely possible—but in this case—ah! I have to reorganize my thinking. The method, the order, my understanding of them The need has never been greater. It has to be all connected and in place, or I will go astray."

He stopped again and turned to stare at me again.

"Where is Malby Farm?"

"On the other side of Cranchester."

"How far is it from here?"

"Er—almost fourteen miles."

"Could you please go there? How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? I'll see. Tomorrow is Sunday. Well, it can be arranged. What do you want me to do there?"

"Find that Mrs. Friot, and find out all you can about Ursula Byrne."

"No problem. It's just that I don't like doing this kind of thing."

"This is not the time to push back and forth. This is a matter of a person's life."

"Poor Ralph," I sighed, "but you believe he's innocent?"

Poirot looked at me seriously: "You want to hear the truth?"

"of course."

"Listen now, my friend, and all the signs point to his guilt."

"No way!" I exclaimed.

Poirot nodded.

"Yes, that stupid inspector—and he was stupid—sees all the clues that lead to that conclusion. And I'm after the truth, and it's the truth that leads me to Ralph Paton again and again. Motive, Opportunities, means, everything. But I must let the truth come to light. I made a promise to Miss Flora, and that little girl's belief is quite firm, quite firm."

(End of this chapter)