Agatha Christie - The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd - Chapter 21

Sit back and relax as I continue reading Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. This is chapter twenty-one. A 17.45-minute story with an additional 5 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 21.

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 21,

The paragraph in the paper.

Caroline,

Of course,

Had not failed to see Miss Russell come to the surgery door.

I had anticipated this and had ready an elaborate account of the lady's bad knee,

But Caroline was not in a cross-questioning mood.

Her point of view was that she knew what Miss Russell had already come for and that I didn't.

Pumping you,

James,

Said Caroline,

Pumping you in the most shameless manner,

I've not a doubt.

It's no good interrupting,

I dare say you hadn't the least idea she was doing it even.

Men are so simple.

She knows that you are in Impero's confidence and she wants to find out things.

Do you know what I think,

James?

I couldn't begin to imagine.

You think so many extraordinary things.

It's no good being sarcastic.

I think Miss Russell knows more about Mr.

Ackroyd's death than she is prepared to admit.

Caroline leaned back triumphantly in her chair.

Do you really think so?

I said,

Absently,

You are very dull today,

James.

No animation about you.

It's that liver of yours.

Our conversation then dealt with purely personal matters.

The paragraph,

Inspired by Impero,

Duly appeared in our daily paper the next morning.

I was in the dark as to its purpose,

But its effect on Caroline was immense.

She began by stating,

Most untruly,

That she had said as much all along.

I raised my eyebrows,

But did not argue.

Caroline,

However,

Must have felt a prick of conscience,

For she went on.

I might have actually mentioned Liverpool,

But I knew he'd try to get away to America.

That's what Crippen did.

Without much success,

I reminded her,

Poor boy,

So they caught him.

I consider,

James,

That it's your duty to see that he isn't hung.

What do you expect me to do?

Why,

You're a medical man,

Aren't you?

You've known him from a boy upwards,

Not mentally responsible.

That's the line to take,

Clearly.

I read only the other day that they're very happy in Broadmoor.

It's quite a high-class club.

But Caroline's words had reminded me of something.

I never knew that Impero had an imbecile nephew,

I said curiously.

Didn't you?

Oh,

He told me all about it.

Poor lad.

It's a great grief to all the family.

They've kept him at home so far,

But it's getting to such a pitch that they're afraid he'll have to go into some kind of institution.

Suppose you know pretty well everything there is to know about Impero's family by this time,

I said exasperated.

Pretty well,

Said Caroline complacently.

It's a great relief to people to be able to tell all their troubles to someone.

It might be,

I said.

If they were ever allowed to do so spontaneously,

Whether they enjoy having confidences screwed out of them by force is another matter.

Caroline merely looked at me with the air of a Christian martyr enjoying martyrdom.

You are so self-contained,

James,

She said.

You hate to speak out or parting with any information yourself,

And you think everybody else must be just like you.

I should hope that I never screw confidences out of anybody.

For instance,

If Impero comes in this afternoon,

As he said he might do,

I shall not dream of asking him who it was arrived at his house early this morning.

Early this morning,

I queried.

Very early,

Said Caroline.

Before the milk came,

I just happened to be looking out the window,

The blind was flapping.

It was a man.

He came in a closed car,

And he was all muffled up,

I couldn't get a glimpse at his face.

But I will tell you my idea,

And you'll see that I'm right.

What's your idea?

Caroline dropped her voice mysteriously.

A home office expert,

She breathed.

A home office expert,

I said,

Amazed.

My dear Caroline,

Mark my word,

James,

You'll see that I'm right.

That Russo woman was here that morning after your poisons.

Roger Ackroyd might easily have been poisoned in his food that night.

I laughed out loud.

Nonsense,

I cried.

He was stabbed in the neck.

You know that as well as I do.

After death,

James,

Said Caroline,

To make a false clue.

My good woman,

I said,

I examined the body,

And I know what I'm talking about.

That wound wasn't inflicted after death.

It was the cause of death,

And you need to make no mistake about it.

Caroline merely continued to look ominous,

Which so annoyed me that I went on.

Perhaps you will tell me,

Caroline,

If I have a medical degree or have I not?

You have the medical degree,

I dare say,

James,

At least.

I mean,

I know you have,

But you've no imagination whatsoever.

Having endowed you with a treble portion,

There was none left over for me,

I said dryly.

I was so amused to notice Caroline's maneuvers that afternoon when Pierrot duly arrived.

My sister,

Without asking a direct question,

Skirted the subject of the mysterious guest in every way imaginable.

By the twinkle in Pierrot's eyes,

I saw that he realized her object.

He remained blandly impervious and blocked her bowling so successfully that she herself was at a loss how to proceed.

Having,

I suspect,

Quietly enjoyed the little game,

He rose to his feet and suggested a walk.

It is that I need to reduce the figure a little,

He explained.

You will come with me,

Doctor,

And perhaps later Miss Caroline will give us some tea.

Delighted,

Said Caroline.

Won't your,

Er,

Guest come also?

You are too kind,

Said Pierrot,

But no,

My friend reposes himself.

Soon you must make his acquaintance.

Quite an old friend of yours,

So somebody told me,

Said Caroline,

Making one last valiant effort.

Did they?

Murmured Pierrot.

Well,

We must start.

Our tramp took us in the direction of Fernley.

I had guessed beforehand that it might do so.

I was beginning to understand Pierrot's methods.

Every little irrelevancy had a bearing upon the whole.

I have a commission for you,

My friend,

He said at last.

Tonight at my house I desire to have a little conference.

You will attend,

Will you not?

Certainly,

I said.

Good.

I need also all those in the house,

That is to say,

Mrs.

Ackroyd,

Mademoiselle Flora,

Major Blunt,

M.

Raymond.

I want you to be my ambassador.

This little reunion is fixed for nine o'clock.

You will ask them,

Yes?

My pleasure,

But why not ask them yourself?

Because they will then put the questions.

Why?

What for?

They will demand what my idea is.

And as you know,

My friend,

I much dislike to have to explain my little ideas until the time comes.

I smiled a little.

My friend Hastings,

He of whom I told you,

Used to say of me that I was the human oyster.

But he was unjust,

Of facts I keep nothing to myself,

But to everyone his own interpretation of them.

When do you want me to do this?

Now if you will like.

We are close to the house.

Aren't you coming in?

No,

Me,

I will promenade myself in the grounds.

I will rejoin you by the lodge gates in a quarter of an hour's time.

I nodded and set off on my task.

The only member of the family at home proved to be Mrs.

Ackroyd,

Who was sipping an early cup of tea.

She received me very graciously.

So grateful to see you,

Doctor,

She murmured.

For clearing up that little matter with Impureau,

But life is one trouble after another.

You have heard about Flora,

Of course.

What exactly?

I asked cautiously.

This new engagement,

Flora and Hector Blunt,

Of course not such a good match as Ralph would have been,

But after all,

Happiness comes first.

What dear Flora needs is an older man,

Someone steady and reliable,

And then Hector is really a very distinguished man in his way.

You saw the news of Ralph's arrest in the paper this morning.

Yes,

I said.

I did.

Horrible.

Mrs.

Ackroyd closed her eyes and shuddered.

Jeffrey Raymond was in a terrible way.

Ring up Liverpool,

But they wouldn't tell him anything at the police station there.

In fact,

They said they hadn't arrested Ralph at all.

Mr.

Raymond insists that it's all a mistake,

A,

What do they call it,

Canard of the newspapers.

I forbidden it to be mentioned before the servants.

Such a terrible disgrace.

Fancy if Flora had actually been married to him.

Mrs.

Ackroyd shut her eyes in anguish.

I began to wonder how soon I should be able to deliver Pierrot's invitation.

Before I had time to speak,

Mrs.

Ackroyd was off again.

You were here yesterday,

Weren't you?

With that dreadful Inspector Raglin?

Brute of a man.

He's terrified Flora into saying she took that money from poor Roger's room and the matter was so simple,

Really.

The dear child wanted to borrow a few pounds,

Didn't like to disturb her uncle since he'd given strict orders against it,

But knowing where he kept his notes,

She went there and took what she needed.

Is that Flora's accounts of the matter?

I asked.

My dear doctor,

You know what girls are nowadays.

So easily acted on by suggestion.

You,

Of course,

Know all about hypnosis and that sort of thing.

The inspector shouts at her,

Says the word steal over and over again until the poor child gets an inhibition,

Or it is a complex.

I always mix up those two words,

And actually thinks herself that she has stolen the money.

I saw at once how it was,

But I can't be too thankful for the whole misunderstanding in one way.

It seems to have brought those two together,

Hector and Flora,

I mean.

I assure you that I have been very much worried about Flora in the past.

Why at one time I actually thought there was going to be some kind of understanding between her and young Raymond.

Just think of it.

Mrs.

Ackroyd's voice rose in shrill horror.

A private secretary with practically no means of his own.

It would have been a severe blow to you,

I said.

Now,

Mrs.

Ackroyd,

I've got a message for you from M.

Hercule Pirot.

For me?

Mrs.

Ackroyd looked quite alarmed.

I hastened to reassure her and explained what Pirot wanted.

Certainly,

Said Mrs.

Ackroyd,

Rather doubtfully.

I suppose we must come if M.

Pirot says so,

But what is it all about?

I'd like to know beforehand.

I assured the lady truthfully that I myself did not know any more than she did.

Very well,

Said Mrs.

Ackroyd at last,

Rather grudgingly.

I will tell the others and we will be there at nine o'clock.

Thereupon I took my leave and joined Pirot at the agreed meeting place.

I've been longer than a quarter of an hour,

I'm afraid,

I remarked,

But once that good lady starts talking,

It's a matter of the utmost difficulty to get a word in edgewise.

It is of no matter,

Said Pirot.

Me,

I have been well amused.

This park is magnificent.

We set off homewards.

When we arrived,

To our great surprise,

Caroline,

Who had evidently been watching for us,

Herself opened the door.

She put her fingers to her lips.

Her face was full of importance and excitement.

Ursula Bourne,

She said,

The parlor maid from Fernley,

She's here.

I've put her in the dining room.

She's in a terrible way,

Poor thing,

Says she must see M.

Pirot at once.

I've done all I could,

Taken her a cup of hot tea.

It really goes to one's heart to see anyone in such a state.

In the dining room,

Said Pirot.

This way,

I said,

And flung open the door.

Ursula Bourne was sitting by the table.

Her arms were just spread out in front of her,

And she had evidently just lifted her head from where it had been buried.

Her eyes were red with weeping.

Ursula Bourne,

I murmured,

But Pirot went past me with outstretched hands.

No,

He said,

That is not quite right,

I think.

It is not Ursula Bourne,

Is it,

My child,

But Ursula Payton,

Mrs.

Ralph Payton.

That concludes chapter 21,

The paragraph in the paper,

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.