Agatha Christie - The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd - Chapter 18

Sit back and relax as I continue reading Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. This is chapter eighteen. A 15.5-minute story with an additional 7 minutes of relaxing music.

The story: The peaceful English village of King’s Abbot is stunned. The widow Ferrars dies from an overdose of Veronal. Not twenty-four hours later, Roger Ackroyd—the man she had planned to marry—is murdered. It is a baffling case involving blackmail and death that taxes Hercule Poirot’s “little grey cells” before he reaches one of the most startling conclusions of his career.

Transcript

Welcome to Restful Journeys.

In this track I will continue reading The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.

This will be chapter 18.

Please find a comfortable place to sit or lie down and relax.

Take a few moments to clear your mind and allow yourself to listen to these words and help you become calm.

Let's continue with chapter 18,

Charles Kent.

Half an hour later saw Pierrot,

Myself,

And Inspector Raglan in the train on the way to Liverpool.

The inspector was clearly very excited.

We may get a line on the blackmailing part of the business,

If on nothing else,

He declared jubilantly.

He's a rough customer,

This fellow,

By what I heard over the phone.

Takes dope,

Too.

We ought to find it easy to get what we want out of him.

If there was the shadow of a motive,

Nothing's more likely than that he killed Mr.

Ackroyd.

But in that case,

Why is young Peyton keeping out of the way?

The whole thing's a muddle,

That's what it is.

By the way,

Impiero,

You were quite right about those fingerprints.

They were Mr.

Ackroyd's own.

I'd rather the same idea myself,

But I dismissed it as hardly feasible.

I smiled to myself.

Inspector Raglan was so very plainly saving his face.

As regards this man,

Said Pierrot,

He is not yet arrested,

Eh?

No,

Detained under suspicion.

And what account does he give of himself?

Precious little,

Said the inspector with a grin.

He's a wary bird,

I gather.

A lot of abuse,

But very little more.

On arrival at Liverpool,

I was surprised to find that Pierrot was welcomed with acclamation.

Superintendent Hayes,

Who met us,

Had worked with Pierrot over some case long ago,

And had evidently an exaggerated opinion of his powers.

Now that we've got Impiero here,

We shan't be long,

He said cheerfully.

I thought you'd retired,

Monsieur.

So I had,

My good Hayes,

So I had.

But how tedious is retirement.

You cannot imagine to yourself the monotony with which day comes after day.

Very likely.

So you've come to have a look at our own particular find?

Is this Dr.

Shepherd?

Think you'll be able to identify him,

Sir?

I'm not very sure,

I said doubtfully.

How did you get a hold of him?

Inquire Pierrot.

Description was circulated,

As you know,

In the press and privately.

Not much to go on,

I admit.

This fellow has an American accent,

All right,

And he doesn't deny that he was near King's Abbot that night.

Just ask what the hell it is to do with us,

And that he'll see us soon in,

Before he answers any questions.

Is it permitted that I do so to see him?

Asked Pierrot.

The superintendent closed one eye knowingly.

Very glad to have you,

Sir.

You've got permission to do anything you please.

Inspector Jap of Scotland Yard was asking after you the other day.

Said he'd heard you were connected unofficially with this case.

Where's Captain Payton hiding,

Sir?

Can you tell me that?

I doubt if it would be wise at the present juncture,

Said Pierrot primely,

And I bit my lips to prevent a smile.

The little man really did it very well.

After some further parley,

We were taken to interview the prisoner.

He was a young fellow,

I should say no more than 22 or 3,

Tall,

Thin,

With slightly shaking hands,

And the evidences of considerable physical strength somewhat run to seed.

His hair was dark,

But his eyes were blue and shifty,

Seldom meeting a glance squarely.

I had all along cherished the illusion that there was something familiar about the figure I had met that night,

But if this were indeed he,

I was completely mistaken.

He did not remind me in the least of anyone I knew.

Now then,

Kent,

Said the superintendent.

Stand up.

Here are some visitors come to see you.

Recognize any of them?

Kent glared at us sullenly,

But did not reply.

I saw his glance waver over the three of us,

And come back to rest on me.

Well,

Sir,

Said the superintendent to me.

What do you say?

The height's the same,

I said,

And as far as general appearance goes,

It might well be a man in question.

Beyond that,

I couldn't go.

What the hell's the meaning of all this?

Asked Kent.

What have you got against me?

Come on,

Out with it.

What am I supposed to have done?

I nodded my head.

It's the man,

I said.

I recognize the voice.

Recognize my voice,

Do you?

Where do you think you heard it before?

On Friday evening last,

Outside the gates of Fernley Park,

You asked me the way there.

I did,

Did I?

Don't you admit it?

Asked the inspector.

I don't admit anything,

Not till I know what you've got on me.

Have you not read the papers in the last few days?

Asked Pierrot,

Speaking for the first time.

The man's eyes narrowed.

So that's it,

Is it?

I saw an old gent had been croaked at Fernley.

Trying to make out I did the job,

Are you?

You were there that night,

Said Pierrot quietly.

How do you know,

Mister?

By this.

Pierrot took something from his pocket and held it out.

It was the goose quill we had found in the summer house.

At the sight of it,

The man's face changed.

He half held out his hand.

Snow,

Said Pierrot thoughtfully.

No,

My friend,

It is empty.

It lay where you dropped it in the summer house last night.

Charles Kent looked at him uncertainly.

You seem to know a hell of a lot about everything,

You little foreign cock duck.

Perhaps you remember this.

The papers say that the old gent was croaked between a quarter to ten and ten o'clock.

That is so,

Agreed Pierrot.

Yes,

But is it really so?

That's what I'm getting at.

This gentleman will tell you,

Said Pierrot.

He indicated Inspector Raglan.

The latter hesitated,

Glanced at Superintendent Hayes,

Then at Pierrot,

And finally,

As though receiving sanction,

He said.

That's right,

Between a quarter to ten and ten o'clock.

Then you've nothing to keep me here for,

Said Kent.

I was away from Fernley Park by twenty-five minutes past nine.

You can ask at the dog and whistle.

That's a saloon about a mile out of Fernley on the road to Cranchester.

I kicked up a bit of a row there,

I remember.

As near as nothing to quarter to ten,

It was.

How about that?

Inspector Raglan wrote down something in his notebook.

Well,

Demanded Kent.

Inquiries will be made,

Said the inspector.

If you've spoken the truth,

You won't have anything to complain about.

What were you doing at Fernley Park anyway?

Went there to meet someone?

Who?

That's none of your business.

You'd better keep a civil tongue in your head,

My man,

The superintendent warned him.

To hell with the civil tongue.

I went there on my own business,

And that's all there is to it.

If I was clear away before the murder was done,

That's all that concerns the cops.

Your name?

It is Charles Kent,

Said Pierrot.

Where were you born?

The man stared at him,

Then he grinned.

I'm a full-blown Britisher,

All right,

He said.

Yes,

Said Pierrot,

Meditatively.

I think you are.

I fancy you were born in Kent.

The man stared.

Why is that?

Because of my name?

What's that got to do with it?

Is a man whose name is Kent bound to be born in a particular county?

Under certain circumstances,

I can imagine he might be,

Said Pierrot,

Very deliberately.

Under certain circumstances?

You comprehend?

There was so much meaning in his voice as to surprise the two police officers.

As for Charles Kent,

He flushed a red brick,

And for a moment I thought he was going to spring at Pierrot.

He thought better of it,

However,

And turned away with a kind of laugh.

Pierrot nodded as though satisfied,

And made his way out through the door.

He was joined presently by the two officers.

We'll verify that statement,

Remarked Raglan.

I don't think he's lying,

Though,

But he's got to come clear with a statement as to what he was doing at Fernley.

It looks to me as though we'd got our blackmailer all right.

On the other hand,

Granted his story's correct,

He couldn't have had anything to do with the actual murder.

He'd got ten pounds on him when he was arrested.

Rather large sum.

I fancy that forty pounds went to him.

The numbers of the notes didn't correspond,

But of course he'd have changed them first thing.

Mr.

Aykroyd must have given him the money,

And he made off with it as fast as possible.

What was that about Kent being his birthplace?

What's that got to do with it?

Nothing whatever,

Said Pierrot mildly.

A little idea of mine,

That was all.

Me,

I am famous for my little ideas.

Are you really,

Said Raglan,

Studying him with a puzzled expression.

The superintendent went into a roar of laughter.

Many's the time I've heard Inspector Japp say that.

Impuro and his little ideas.

Too fanciful for me,

He'd say,

But always something in them.

You mock yourself at me,

Said Pierrot,

Smiling.

But never mind.

The old ones,

They laugh less sometimes,

When the young,

Clever ones do not laugh at all.

And nodding his head at them in a sage manner,

He walked out into the street.

He and I'd lunched together at a hotel.

I know now that the whole thing lay clearly unraveled before him.

He had got the last thread he needed to lead him to the truth,

But at the time I had no suspicion of the fact.

I overestimated his general confidence,

And I took it for granted that the things which puzzled me must be equally puzzling to him.

My chief puzzle was what the man Charles Kent could have been doing at Fernley.

Again and again I put the question to myself,

And could get no satisfactory reply.

At last I ventured a tentative query to Pierrot.

His reply was immediate.

Mon aime,

I do not think,

I know.

Really,

I said incredulously.

Yes indeed,

I suppose now that to you it would not make sense if I said that he went to Fernley that night because he was born in Kent.

I stared at him.

It certainly doesn't seem to make sense to me,

I said dryly.

Ah,

Said Pierrot pityingly.

Well,

No matter.

I have still my little idea.

That concludes chapter 18,

Charles Kent,

From the story The Murder of Roger Rackroyd by Agatha Christie.

Thank you for listening.

I hope you have enjoyed this story and hopefully become relaxed and possibly fallen asleep.