The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Агата Кристи

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of fact, but in the end I plumped for a gold mine in Western Australia.”

      My neighbour was regarding me with a strange expression which I could not fathom.

      “It is Fate,” he said at last.

      “What is Fate?” I asked irritably.

      “That I should live next to a man who seriously considers Porcupine Oilfields, and also West Australian Gold Mines. Tell me, have you also a penchant for auburn hair?”

      I stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing.

      “No, no, it is not the insanity that I suffer from. Make your mind easy. It was a foolish question that I put to you there, for, you see, my friend of whom I spoke was a young man, a man who thought all women good, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, a doctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in this life of ours. Well, well, we are neighbours. I beg of you to accept and present to your excellent sister my best marrow.”

      He stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of the tribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered.

      “Indeed,” said the little man cheerfully, “this has not been a wasted morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a question. You doubtless know everyone in this tiny village. Who is the young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. He walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?”

      The description left me in no doubt.

      “That must be Captain Ralph Paton,” I said slowly.

      “I have not seen him about here before?”

      “No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son—adopted son, rather—of Mr Ackroyd of Fernly Park.”

      My neighbour made a slight gesture of impatience.

      “Of course, I should have guessed. Mr Ackroyd spoke of him many times.”

      “You know Mr Ackroyd?” I said, slightly surprised.

      “Mr Ackroyd knew me in London—when I was at work there. I have asked him to say nothing of my profession down here.”

      “I see,” I said, rather amused by this patent snobbery, as I thought it.

      But the little man went on with an almost grandiloquent smirk.

      “One prefers to remain incognito. I am not anxious for notoriety. I have not even troubled to correct the local version of my name.”

      “Indeed,” I said, not knowing quite what to say.

      “Captain Ralph Paton,” mused Mr Porrott. “And so he is engaged to Mr Ackroyd’s niece, the charming Miss Flora.”

      “Who told you so?” I asked, very much surprised.

      “Mr Ackroyd. About a week ago. He is very pleased about it—has long desired that such a thing should come to pass, or so I understood from him. I even believe that he brought some pressure to bear upon the young man. That is never wise. A young man should marry to please himself—not to please a stepfather from whom he has expectations.”

      My ideas were completely upset. I could not see Ackroyd taking a hairdresser into his confidence, and discussing the marriage of his niece and steps on with him. Ackroyd extends a genial patronage to the lower orders, but he has a very great sense of his own dignity. I began to think that Porrott couldn’t be a hairdresser after all.

      To hide my confusion, I said the first thing that came into my head.

      “What made you notice Ralph Paton? His good looks?”

      “No, not that alone—though he is unusually good-looking for an Englishman—what your lady novelists would call a Greek God. No, there was something about that young man that I did not understand.”

      He said the last sentence in a musing tone of voice which made an indefinable impression upon me. It was as though he was summing up the boy by the light of some inner knowledge that I did not share. It was that impression that was left with me, for at that moment my sister’s voice called me from the house.

      I went in. Caroline had her hat on, and had evidently just come in from the village. She began without preamble.

      “I met Mr Ackroyd.”

      “Yes?” I said.

      “I stopped him, of course, but he seemed in a great hurry, and anxious to get away.”

      I have no doubt but that that was the case. He would feel towards Caroline much as he had felt towards Miss Gannett earlier in the day—perhaps more so. Caroline is less easy to shake off.

      “I asked him at once about Ralph. He was absolutely astonished. Had no idea the boy was down here. He actually said he thought I must have made a mistake. I! A mistake!”

      “Ridiculous,” I said. “He ought to have known you better.”

      “Then he went on to tell me that Ralph and Flora are engaged.”

      “I knew that, too,” I interrupted, with modest pride.

      “Who told you?”

      “Our new neighbour.”

      Caroline visibly wavered for a second or two, much as if a roulette ball might coyly hover between two numbers. Then she declined the tempting red herring.

      “I told Mr Ackroyd that Ralph was staying at the Three Boars.”

      “Caroline,” I said, “do you never reflect that you might do a lot of harm with this habit of yours of repeating everything indiscriminately?”

      “Nonsense,” said my sister. “People ought to know things. I consider it my duty to tell them. Mr Ackroyd was very grateful to me.”

      “Well,” I said, for there was clearly more to come.

      “I think he went straight off to the Three Boars, but if so he didn’t find Ralph there.”

      “No?”

      “No. Because as I was coming back through the wood –”

      “Coming back through the wood?” I interrupted.

      Caroline had the grace to blush.

      “It was such a lovely day,” she exclaimed. “I thought I would make a little round. The woods with their autumnal tints are so perfect at this time of year.”

      Caroline does not care a hang for woods at any time of year. Normally she regards them as places where you get your feet damp, and where all kinds of unpleasant things may drop on your head. No, it was good sound mongoose instinct which took her to our local wood. It is the only place adjacent to the village of King’s Abbot where you can talk with a young woman unseen by the whole of the village. It adjoins the Park of Fernly.

      “Well,” СКАЧАТЬ