Roger Mystery

Chapter 21 Family Meeting
A joint coroner's inquest was held on Monday.

I don't want to detail the tedious process of this interrogation, otherwise it is inevitable to repeat the same procedure over and over again.The police have also explained in advance that they must not disclose too much inside information.I have only given evidence of Aykroyd's cause and approximate time of death.The coroner was critical of Ralph Paton's absence, but not emphatically.

After the interrogation Poirot and I had a few words with Inspector Raglan.The inspector looked serious.

"Very bad, Monsieur Poirot," he said. "I try to be as impartial as I can, after all I'm a native and have dealt with Captain Paton several times in Cranchester. I don't want him to be a criminal— — but the situation is not good from any angle. Assuming he is innocent, why doesn't he show up? We have strong evidence against him, but it may be clarified by his explanation. Why did he not Come out and explain?"

There was something else in the Inspector's words that I didn't understand at the time.The police have sent telegrams to all the ports and railway stations in the UK to report Ralph's physical characteristics, and the police everywhere are on the alert.His residence in the city, as well as the various places he frequented, were under surveillance.With such a tight net, Ralph would not be able to fly even with his wings.He had no luggage and, as far as we know, penniless.

"He is so well known locally that he must have been noticed at the station that night," continued the Inspector, "but I can find no witnesses. There is no news of him from Liverpool."

"You think he went to Liverpool?" asked Poirot.

"Well, isn't that obvious. Three minutes after that phone call from the station, the Liverpool express train left—there must be some connection."

"Unless it's meant to draw you away. Maybe that's what that call was about."

"That's one way of thinking, too," said the Inspector hastily. "You really think that was the purpose of that call?"

"My friend," said Poirot earnestly, "I don't know either. But I can tell you this: I believe that when we solve the mystery of the telephone, the truth about the murder will be revealed."

"I remember you said something similar before." I looked at him curiously.

Poirot nodded.

"My reasoning always goes back to that." He looked solemn.

"I think this question is completely irrelevant," I asserted.

"I wouldn't say that," protested the inspector, "but frankly, I also think M. Poirot is too much obsessed with this detail. We have more valuable clues, for example, fingerprint."

Poirot's behavior suddenly became very irrational, as he always did when he was excited.

"Monsieur Inspector," he said, "beware of going into that dead--dead--what's that word--no exit?"

Inspector Raglan was dumbfounded, but I was lucky to react in time.

"You mean don't go down a dead end, right?" I said.

"That's right—a dead end, nowhere to go. Those fingerprints might hold you back."

"Unintelligible," said the Inspector. "Are you implying that the fingerprints are forged? It's a pattern in fiction, but I've never encountered it in my career. Whether they're true or not—there will be." Let's take a step forward."

Poirot shrugged slightly and spread his hands.

The superintendent showed us many enlarged photos of fingerprints, and explained the knowledge of "loop" and "thread" from a technical point of view.

"Well, well," he said, annoyed at last by Poirot's indifference, "you have to admit that these fingerprints were left by someone in the Ackroyd family that night?"

"Of course," said Poirot, nodding.

"Well, I've got the fingerprints of everyone in the family—note, everyone, from the old lady to the kitchen maid."

I don't think Mrs Ackroyd would like to be called an old lady, she must have spent a lot of money on cosmetics.

"Fingerprints of all," the Inspector repeated needlessly.

"Including mine." I said sarcastically.

"Very well. No one's fingerprints match the number. That leaves only two possibilities: either the prints on the cutlass belong to Ralph Paton, or they come from the stranger the doctor met. Wait for us After finding these two—”

"A great deal of precious time has been wasted," interrupted Poirot.

"I don't understand you, M. Poirot."

"You said just now that you had the fingerprints of all the people in the house," said Poirot in a low voice. "Is that true, Monsieur Inspector?"

"Of course."

"No one was missed?"

"No one was missed."

"Whether it's life or death?"

The inspector thought that he had encountered a religious problem, and was puzzled for a while. After a while, he asked slowly: "Do you mean—"

"Fingerprints of a dead man, Mr Inspector."

It still took the Inspector a minute or two to understand.

"I want to tell you," said Poirot calmly, "that the fingerprints on the hilt are Mr. Ackroyd's own. It is easy to verify that his body is still there."

"But why? What does that mean? You are not implying that he committed suicide, M. Poirot?"

"Ah, no. My theory is that the murderer was wearing gloves, or had something wrapped around his hands. After the stabbing, the murderer took the dead man's hand and gripped the hilt tightly."

"What is the purpose of doing this?"

Poirot shrugged again.

"It makes the already confusing case even more complicated and difficult to understand."

"Very well," said the Inspector, "I'll go and have a test. How did you think of it in the first place?"

"I found out when you kindly showed us the short sword and let us compare the prints on the hilt. I don't know anything about loops and threads—see, I confess my ignorance. But I noticed The position of the fingerprint is a bit awkward, if I want to use it to kill people, I will never use that kind of grip. With the right hand raised behind the shoulder, it is obviously difficult to hit the vital point with the sword accurately."

Inspector Raglan stared at him dumbfounded.Poirot, on the other hand, brushed the dust off his sleeves nonchalantly.

"Well," said the Inspector, "that's a theory, too. I'll check it out right away. Don't be disappointed if it doesn't work."

His tone has been as gentle as possible, but still has a condescending taste.Poirot watched him go, then turned and winked at me.

"Next time I'll be more considerate of his pride," he said. "Now let's go about our own business. My good friend, how about we have a 'family get-together'?"

What Poirot called a "family gathering" began in half an hour.We sat around a round table in the dining room at Finley Park, with Poirot at the head, like a chairman presiding over a meeting; the servants were not present, so there were six of us: Mrs Ackroyd, Flora, Bran Major, young Raymond, Poirot, and myself.

When all were present, Poirot stood up and bowed.

"Gentlemen and ladies, there is a reason why I called you together." He paused, and then said, "First of all, I have a very special request for this lady."

"Me?" Flora asked.

"Miss, you are the fiancée of Captain Ralph Paton, and you are the person he trusts most in the world. I sincerely beg you, if you know his whereabouts, please persuade him to come forward. Please wait a moment ——" Flora looked up and was about to speak. "It's not too late to speak after you think it over. Miss, his situation is getting more and more dangerous every day. If he shows up immediately, no matter how unfavorable the facts are for him, there is still a chance to clarify. But if he keeps silent, he will go away as soon as possible." In short, what does this show? There can only be one conclusion, that is, he admits that he is guilty. Miss, if you really believe that he is innocent, please persuade him to come forward as soon as possible, otherwise it will be too late. "

Flora's face suddenly lost all color.

"It's too late!" she repeated, very low.

Poirot leaned forward and looked at her.

"You must understand, mademoiselle," he persuaded, "that it is father Poirot who is begging you. Father Poirot is very knowledgeable and knows a lot of things. I am not trying to trick you, madam. Don't you Trust me and won't tell me where Ralph Paton is hiding?"

Flora got up and looked directly at Poirot.

"Mr. Poirot," she replied, "I swear to you--I swear solemnly--I have no idea where Ralph is. Neither on the day of the murder nor after that I've seen him, and I haven't heard from him."

She sat down again.Poirot watched her silently for a while, and then tapped crisply on the table with his hand.

"Okay! That's it." He said with a serious face, "Now I would like to implore everyone else here, Mrs. Ackroyd, Major Brant, Dr. Shepherd, Mr. Raymond, you are all relatives and friends of the missing person, If any of you know where Ralph Paton is hiding, please speak up."

There was a long silence.Poirot's eyes swept across the crowd in turn.

"I beg you," he whispered, "please speak up."

But still no one said anything.At last it was Mrs Ackroyd who broke the silence.

"I must say," she said mournfully, "that Ralph's disappearance is very queer--very queer indeed. To hide at this hour, well, it seems there must be something hidden. Dear Flora, I cannot help thinking that it is a blessing in misfortune that the news of your engagement has not been officially announced."

"Mom!" Flora yelled angrily.

"Providence," murmured Mrs. Ackroyd, "I am devoutly convinced that there is some kind of Providence in the dark—that the gods determine the fate of every man, as Shakespeare's beautiful lines say."

"Mrs. Aykroyd, your own ankles are too thick, so they couldn't be given by the Almighty God?" Jeffrey Raymond laughed irresponsibly.

I think his intention was to ease the tension, but Mrs. Ackroyd gave him a venomous look and produced her handkerchief.

"Flora came very close to being involved in a terrible scandal and tragedy. I could never have believed that dear Ralph had anything to do with poor Roger's death. He couldn't have done it. I'm a very easy man." Trusting people - has been like this since I was a kid and hates thinking the worst about people. But of course, everyone must remember that Ralph suffered from several air raids when he was a child, and it is said that the effects of it take a long time to show Come out. They're completely incapable of taking responsibility for their actions, you know, out of control, powerless."

"Mother," exclaimed Flora, "you don't think Ralph is the murderer?"

"Enough, Mrs Ackroyd," said Brant.

"My mind is in a mess," said Mrs. Ackroyd, wiping away tears. "It's very sad. I wonder what will happen to the estate if Ralph is guilty?"

Raymond rudely pushed his chair away from the table.Major Brant remained calm, looking at her thoughtfully.

"Well, it's like shell-shock," persisted Mrs Ackroyd, "and I dare say Roger is very strict with him money--for his own good, of course. You can see you don't agree." My opinion, but I just can't figure out why Ralph doesn't show up. Thank goodness the news of Flora and Ralph's engagement was never officially announced."

"It will be announced tomorrow." Flora said loudly.

"Flora!" her mother was beyond shocked.

Flora turned to the secretary and said:
"Will you please send a bulletin to the Morning Post? And The Times, please, Mr. Raymond."

"If you're sure it's wise, Miss Ackroyd," replied Raymond gravely.

Impulsively, she turned to Brant again. "You should understand," she said, "what else can I do? At this point, I must side with Ralph. Don't you understand that I have no choice?"

She looked at him inquiringly with eager eyes.After a long time, Brandt suddenly nodded.

Mrs. Ackroyd could not help screaming.Flora was unmoved.That's when Raymond spoke.

"I appreciate your starting point, Miss Ackroyd, but it's a bit rash, isn't it? Wait a day or two."

"To-morrow," said Flora expressly, "mother, it will do no good to procrastinate. I cannot be unfaithful to my friends anyway."

"Mr Poirot," implored Mrs Ackroyd tearfully, "couldn't you say a few words?"

"There's nothing to say," Brant interjected. "She's doing the right thing. I'll stand by her no matter what."

Flora held out her hand to him.

"Thank you, Major Brant," she said.

"Madame," said Poirot, "permit me, old man, to pay tribute to your courage and fidelity. You will not misunderstand me if I take the liberty of begging you - most solemnly - to postpone the announcement of the marriage for at least two days. Me?"

Flora hesitated.

"My request is as much for Ralph Paton's interests as for yours, miss. You frown, and you seem not to understand my intentions. But I can assure you that it will be beneficial to postpone the announcement." Nothing bad. This is no joke. You put the case in my hands, and now please don't mess with my plans."

It took Flora a while to answer.

"I don't like it," she said at last, "but I'll do as you tell me."

She sat down at the table again.

"Then, gentlemen and ladies," said Poirot, speaking quickly, "I continue what I have said. Please note that my aim is to find out the truth, which, however ugly in itself, is of great importance to those who seek it. It will be novel and wonderful. At my age, my energy is not what it used to be," he paused, apparently eager for a rebuttal, "and this will probably be the last case I investigate. But Hercule Poe Lowe won't end it with a single defeat. Gentlemen and ladies, I'm telling you, I want to know the truth, and I will know—no matter how hard you try to stop me."

The provocation in his last sentence lingers, as if flung straight in our faces.Everyone could not help but cringe a little, only Jeffrey Raymond still maintained the same humorous attitude as usual, calm and composed.

"What do you mean by 'no matter how we obstruct it'?" His eyebrows raised slightly.

"That is to say, sir, everyone in this room is hiding something from me," he waved his hand, and the voice that had been muttering to himself grew louder and angrier, "Come on, come on, I know that .Maybe these things are insignificant and seem to have nothing to do with the case, but they do exist. Each of you is hiding something from me. Come, am I wrong?"

His challenging and reproachful eyes swept across the table, and everyone lowered their heads, not daring to look directly at him.Yes, even I was not spared.

"Answer me," said Poirot, rising from his seat with a strange smile, "and I implore you to tell me the truth—the whole truth."

Silent.

"No one has anything to say?"

He laughed again, the same strange laugh.

"Too bad." He said and left the room.

(End of this chapter)