Murder of Roger Ackroyd - Agatha Christie [60]
The colonel’s story was one of interminable length, and of curiously little interest. A thing that happened in India many years ago cannot compare for a moment with an event that took place in King’s Abbot the day before yesterday.
It was Caroline who brought the colonel’s story to a close by fortunately going Mah Jong. After the slight unpleasantness always caused by my corrections of Caroline’s somewhat faulty arithmetic, we started a new hand.
“East Wind passes,” said Caroline. “I’ve got an idea of my own about Ralph Paton. Three Characters. But I’m keeping it to myself for the present.”
“Are you, dear?” said Miss Gannett. “Chow—I mean Pung.”
“Yes,” said Caroline firmly.
“Was it all right about the boots?” asked Miss Gannett. “Their being black, I mean?”
“Quite all right,” said Caroline.
“What was the point, do you think?” asked Miss Gannett.
Caroline pursed up her lips, and shook her head with an air of knowing all about it.
“Pung,” said Miss Gannett. “No—Unpung. I suppose that now the doctor’s in with M. Poirot he knows all the secrets?”
“Far from it,” I said.
“James is so modest,” said Caroline. “Ah! A concealed Kong.”
The colonel gave vent to a whistle. For the moment gossip was forgotten.
“Your own wind, too,” he said. “And you’ve got two Pungs of Dragons. We must be careful. Miss Caroline’s out for a big hand.”
We played for some minutes with no irrelevant conversation.
“This M. Poirot now,” said Colonel Carter, “is he really such a great detective?”
“The greatest the world has ever known,” said Caroline solemnly. “He has to come here incognito to avoid publicity.”
“Chow,” said Miss Gannett. “Quite wonderful for our little village, I’m sure. By the way, Clara—my maid, you know—is great friends with Elsie, the housemaid at Fernly, and what do you think Elsie told her? That there’s been a lot of money stolen, and it’s her opinion—Elsie’s, I mean—that the parlourmaid had something to do with it. She’s leaving at the month, and she’s crying a good deal at night. If you ask me, the girl is very likely in league with a gang. She’s always been a queer girl—she’s not friends with any of the girls round here. She goes off by herself on her days out—very unnatural, I call it, and most suspicious. I asked her once to come to our Friendly Girls’ Evenings, but she refused, and then I asked her a few questions about her home and her family—all that sort of thing, and I’m bound to say I considered her manner most impertinent. Outwardly very respectful—but she shut me up in the most barefaced way.”
Miss Gannett stopped for breath, and the colonel, who was totally uninterested in the servant question, remarked that in the Shanghai Club brisk play was the invariable rule.
We had a round of brisk play.
“That Miss Russell,” said Caroline. “She came here pretending to consult James on Friday morning. It’s my opinion she wanted to see where the poisons were kept. Five Characters.”
“Chow,” said Miss Gannett. “What an extraordinary idea! I wonder if you can be right.”
“Talking of poisons,” said the colonel. “Eh—what? Haven’t I discarded? Oh! Eight Bamboos.”
“Mah Jong!” said Miss Gannett.
Caroline was very much annoyed.
“One Red Dragon,” she said regretfully, “and I should have had a hand of three doubles.”
“I’ve had two Red Dragons all the time,” I mentioned.
“So exactly like you, James,” said Caroline reproachfully. “You’ve no conception of the spirit of the game.”
I myself thought I had played rather cleverly. I should have had to pay Caroline an enormous amount if she had gone Mah Jong. Miss Gannett’s Mah Jong was of the poorest variety possible, as Caroline did not fail to point out to her.
East Wind passed, and we started a new hand in silence.
“What I was going to tell you just now was this,” said Caroline.
“Yes?” said Miss Gannett encouragingly.
“My idea about Ralph Paton, I mean.”
“Yes, dear,” said Miss Gannett, still more encouragingly. “Chow!”
“It’s a sign of weakness to Chow so early,” said Caroline