Murder of Roger Ackroyd - Agatha Christie [76]
“Is what you said true?”
“That Charles Kent is suspected of the crime? Yes, that is true. You alone can save him, by telling the reason for his being at Fernly.”
“He came to see me.” She spoke in a low, hurried voice. “I went out to meet him—”
“In the summerhouse, yes, I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Mademoiselle, it is the business of Hercule Poirot to know things. I know that you went out earlier in the evening, that you left a message in the summerhouse to say what time you would be there.”
“Yes, I did. I had heard from him—saying he was coming. I dared not let him come to the house. I wrote to the address he gave me and said I would meet him in the summerhouse, and described it to him so that he would be able to find it. Then I was afraid he might not wait there patiently, and I ran out and left a piece of paper to say I would be there about ten minutes past nine. I didn’t want the servants to see me, so I slipped out through the drawing room window. As I came back, I met Dr. Sheppard, and I fancied that he would think it queer. I was out of breath, for I had been running. I had no idea that he was expected to dinner that night.”
She paused.
“Go on,” said Poirot. “You went out to meet him at ten minutes past nine. What did you say to each other?”
“It’s difficult. You see—”
“Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, interrupting her, “in this matter I must have the whole truth. What you tell us need never go beyond these four walls. Dr. Sheppard will be discreet, and so shall I. See, I will help you. This Charles Kent, he is your son, is he not?”
She nodded. The colour had flamed into her cheeks.
“No one has ever known. It was long ago—long ago—down in Kent. I was not married….”
“So you took the name of the county as a surname for him. I understand.”
“I got work. I managed to pay for his board and lodging. I never told him that I was his mother. But he turned out badly, he drank, then took to drugs. I managed to pay his passage out to Canada. I didn’t hear of him for a year or two. Then, somehow or other, he found out that I was his mother. He wrote asking me for money. Finally, I heard from him back in this country again. He was coming to see me at Fernly, he said. I dared not let him come to the house. I have always been considered so—so very respectable. If anyone got an inkling—it would have been all up with my post as housekeeper. So I wrote to him in the way I have just told you.”
“And in the morning you came to see Dr. Sheppard?”
“Yes. I wondered if something could be done. He was not a bad boy—before he took to drugs.”
“I see,” said Poirot. “Now let us go on with the story. He came that night to the summerhouse?”
“Yes, he was waiting for me when I got there. He was very rough and abusive. I had brought with me all the money I had, and I gave it to him. We talked a little, and then he went away.”
“What time was that?”
“It must have been between twenty and twenty-five minutes past nine. It was not yet half past when I got back to the house.”
“Which way did he go?”
“Straight out the same way he came, by the path that joined the drive just inside the lodge gates.”
Poirot nodded.
“And you, what did you do?”
“I went back to the house. Major Blunt was walking up and down the terrace smoking, so I made a detour to get round to the side door. It was just then on half past nine, as I tell you.”
Poirot nodded again. He made a note or two in a microscopic pocketbook.
“I think that is all,” he said thoughtfully.
“Ought I—?” she hesitated. “Ought I to tell all this to Inspector Raglan?”
“It may come to that. But let us not be in a hurry. Let us proceed slowly, with due order and method. Charles Kent is not yet formally charged with murder. Circumstances may arise which will render your story unnecessary.”
Miss Russell rose.
“Thank you very much, M. Poirot,” she said. “You have been very kind—very kind indeed. You—you do believe me, don’t you? That Charles had nothing to do with this wicked murder!”
“There seems no doubt that the man who was talking to Mr. Ackroyd in the library at nine-thirty