Roger Mystery

Chapter 9 The Dinner Party at Finley Manor (2)
"It's all closed." I said as I walked out from behind the curtain.

"Already bolted?"

"Yes, yes. What's the matter with you, Ackroyd?"

Parker just closed the door and went out, otherwise I wouldn't have asked.

Ackroyd took a moment to answer.

"I'm going to die," he said slowly after a while, "No, you don't need to take those damn pills. I just said it to Parker on purpose. The servants are very curious. Come and sit down. The door has been closed tightly gone?"

"Well, no one is eavesdropping, don't be nervous."

"Sheppard, no one knows how I got through these 24 hours. Even seeing my own house crumble to ruins is not as shocking as it was to me. The last straw that broke me was Ralph Good job. But leaving that aside, I'm talking about something else—another thing—I don't know what to do, and I must make up my mind at once."

"What's wrong?"

Aykroyd was silent for a while, strangely, he seemed a little embarrassed to speak.When he finally spoke, the questions he asked shocked me.I hadn't expected him to bring it up at all.

"Shepard, you were the one who took care of Ashley Ferrars when he finally got sick, didn't you?"

"Yes, it's me."

He was even more hesitant about the next question.

"Have you ever wondered—has it ever crossed your mind—that—well, he was poisoned?"

I was speechless for a moment.Then I figured out the answer. After all, Roger Aykroyd and Caroline are not the same.

"To tell you the truth," I said, "I didn't suspect it at the time, but since—well, that is, something offhanded by my sister, it got me into it, and I never got rid of it. Note, however, that there is no real basis for my suspicions."

"Then he was indeed poisoned," said Ackroyd.

His tone was unusually dignified.

"Who did it?" I asked sharply.

"His wife."

"how do you know?"

"She confessed it to me herself."

"When?"

"Yesterday! God, just yesterday! Seems like ten years ago."

I waited a while, and then he went on: "You know, Sheppard, I'm telling you this secret. I'm not going to take any action. I want to get your opinion first--it's a heavy burden on me. I can't do it alone. As I said earlier, I don't know what to do."

"Can't you tell the whole story?" I said. "I'm still at a loss. How did Mrs. Ferrars come to confess to you?"

"Well, three months ago I proposed to Mrs. Ferrars, and she refused. After repeated requests, she finally agreed, but asked me to keep the news of the engagement under wraps until she had been in mourning for a year. Yesterday we Calling at her door to remind her that it has been a year and three weeks since her husband died, and there should be no obstacle to the news of our public engagement. I have noticed for some time that her behavior is quite strange, and then she suddenly Completely broke down, she—she shook everything out. She hated her husband like a beast, and gradually fell in love with me, so—so she took the risk and used the most terrible method. Poison! My God, this It's cold-blooded murder!"

Loathing and fear flashed across Ackroyd's face, and Mrs Ferrars must have seen it.Aykroyd is not the kind of lover who can forgive everything for love, he is still a good citizen who keeps his own place at heart.The reason deep in his heart and the reverence for the law made him hate Mrs. Ferrars the moment the truth was revealed.

"That's right," he went on, in a low, dead voice, "she confessed exactly. Looks like someone knew the whole thing - this guy blackmailed her of a lot of money. She was driving her crazy. "

"Who is that man?"

Suddenly I saw Ralph Paton and Mrs Ferrars walking side by side.The heads of the two were still very close to each other.A burst of anxiety suddenly came to my heart, could it be--well, absolutely impossible!I remembered that just this afternoon Ralph greeted me casually.absurd!
"She wouldn't name the man," said Ackroyd slowly. "In fact, she didn't say it was a man. But of course—"

"Of course," I agreed, "it must be a man. Don't you have anything to suspect?"

Ackroyd groaned and put his head in his hands.

"Impossible," he said, "even the slightest thought in that direction would drive me mad. No, I would never tell you that fleeting thought. I sensed the mystery in her words. The character might be in my house—but that's impossible, and I must have misunderstood her."

"What did you say to her?" I asked.

"What else can I say? Of course, she also saw my panic. Then the question came: how should I deal with it? Did you realize that, so I became an accomplice after the fact. In my opinion, she is better than me. I thought of this one step earlier. Hey, I panicked. She asked me to give her 24 hours - and promised me not to take any action during that time. And she firmly refused to disclose the blackmailing her. Who is that scoundrel? I guess she's afraid I'll go straight to him in a fit of rage and make trouble out of hand. She also promises to give me a message in 24 hours. God! I swear, Shepard, I really I didn't expect her to do such a stupid thing. Suicide! I forced her to die."

"No, no," I quickly persuaded, "Don't be a fool, you should not be responsible for her death."

"The question is, what should I do now? The poor woman is dead, so don't repeat her old account of poisoning."

"Agreed." I said.

"But on the other hand, how can I catch the scoundrel who drove her to such a corner? What that guy did was no different from killing her with his own hands. He knew her crime, but he clung to her like a vampire. She has been punished, so can he get away with it?"

"I understand," I replied slowly, "You want to find out this person? Then many things have to be put on the table."

"Well, I have considered this too, and weighed it many times in my heart."

"The villain deserved what he deserved, I agree. But you also have to weigh the price you are going to pay for it."

Ackroyd got up and walked up and down for a while, then sat back in the armchair.

"Well, Shepard, we'll hold on for the time being. If she doesn't leave any last words, let's forget about it."

"What do you mean she left a last word?" I was very curious.

"I have a strong hunch that she must have conveyed something to me somewhere or in some way—before she committed suicide. I can't tell, but there must be."

I couldn't help shaking my head: "She didn't leave you a letter? Or something like a message?"

"Sheppard, I believe she must have stayed, and I always feel that she chose to commit suicide after careful consideration. She wanted the whole thing to be revealed to the world in order to avenge the person who forced her to die. I believe that if I could see her again at that time, she would definitely tell me the name of that person and ask me to seek justice for her." He glanced at me, "Don't you trust your intuition?"

"Well, in a sense, it's a belief. If she leaves a last word, as you say—"

I stop talking.The door opened silently, and Parker came in holding a tray with several letters on it.

"This is evening mail, sir." He handed the tray to Ackroyd.

Then he put away the coffee cups and exited the room.

My attention was distracted for a moment, then returned to Ackroyd.He stared petrified at a long blue envelope as the other letters slid to the floor.

"It's her handwriting," he murmured. "She must have been out last night to post this letter, and then—then—"

He tore open the envelope, pulled out a thick stack of letter paper, and suddenly raised his head again.

"Are you sure the windows are closed?" he asked.

"One hundred percent sure," I said in amazement, "what's the matter?"

"I've had this weird feeling all night, like someone's staring at me, spying on me. What's that—"

He turned suddenly, and so did I, and both of them seemed to hear the faint click of the latch.I went to open the door, no one was there.

"Nerves," Ackroyd said to himself.

He unfolded the thick stack of letter paper and read it in a low voice.

My dear, my dearest Roger--a life is worth a life, I understand--I saw you perfectly in the look on your face this afternoon.So there is only one path ahead of me.It's up to you to punish the man who made me spend my last year in hell.I don't want to say that name this afternoon, but I'm going to put my pen to tell you right now.I have no children, no close relatives, and I can't implicate anyone, so you can feel free to disclose everything.Roger, my dearest Roger, if you can, please forgive me for trying to drag you into the water, but I still can't bear it after all...

Ackroyd paused to flip through the letter.

"I'm sorry, Shepard, but I can't read it to you later," he said hesitantly. "This letter is addressed to me, and I can only read it."

He stuffed the letter into an envelope and put it on the table. "Watch it later when I'm alone."

"No," I blurted out, "now."

Ackroyd stared at me in surprise.

"Excuse me," I blushed, "I didn't ask you to read it to me, but I wanted you to read the letter while I'm still here."

Aykroyd shook his head: "No, I want to wait a little longer."

But for some reason, some reason that I can't explain myself, I still kept urging him to read on.

"At least until the guy's name comes out," I said.

Ackroyd is very stubborn, the more you push him to do something, the more he refuses to do it.I fought for a long time and it was still in vain.

The letter came in at eight forty.And when I left him at [-]:[-], the letter was still unread.I put my hand on the doorknob, hesitated, looked back, wondering if there was anything left to do.I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head, walked out of the room, and closed the door behind me.

As soon as I went out, I found Parker standing beside me, which shocked me a lot.He looked embarrassed, and I suddenly realized that he might have been eavesdropping on the conversation just outside the door.

The man's fat face was shiny with oil, and he looked smug, with a deceitful and cunning look clearly wandering around in his eyeballs.

"Mr. Ackroyd doesn't want to be disturbed by anyone," I said coldly. "He told me to tell you."

"Well, sir, I—I was so dazed that I thought someone was ringing."

He was obviously lying, and I didn't bother to expose it.Parker escorted me to the front hall, helped me put on my overcoat, and I wandered out into the night outside.The moon hid in the clouds, the earth was pitch black, and everything was silent.

The clock in the village church struck nine just as I was stepping out of the manor gate.I turned left towards the village and almost ran into a man approaching me.

"Is this the way to Finley Park, sir?" said the stranger in a hoarse voice.

I glanced at him.The brim of his hat was pulled down very low, and his collar was turned up high, so he couldn't see his appearance clearly, but he felt like a young man.His tone was slightly rough, and he didn't seem very well-bred.

"That's the gate to the estate," I said.

"Thank you, sir." He paused for a moment, then added superficially, "I'm very unfamiliar with this place, alas."

He walked on, and I turned to watch him go through the gate.

The strange thing is that his voice sounded a bit familiar, vaguely reminding me of someone I knew, but I couldn't figure out who it was for a while.

10 minutes later I was home.Caroline's curiosity grew, and she couldn't wait to ask me why I came home so early.I made up some innocuous dinner party anecdotes to prevaricate her, and I was secretly apprehensive, lest she would see through this trick.

At ten o'clock I got up and yawned and said I was going to bed, and Caroline acquiesced.

It was Friday, and I had to wind the clock every Friday night.Caroline went to inspect the kitchen while I was winding up, and was satisfied to find that the servants had locked the door.

It was ten-fifteen when we went upstairs.As soon as I got upstairs, the phone rang in the hall downstairs.

"It's Mrs. Bates." Caroline responded quickly.

"I guess so," I said ruefully.

I ran down the stairs and picked up the phone.

"What?" I exclaimed. "What are you talking about? Of course, I'll be right there."

I rushed upstairs, grabbed my bag, and stuffed some bandages and medicine into it.

"It's Parker calling from Finley Park," I called to Caroline. "They've just found out that Roger Ackroyd has been murdered."

(End of this chapter)