The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

I told Caroline at lunch that I should be dining at Fernly. She expressed no objection – on the contrary.

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘You’ll hear all about it. By the way, what is the trouble with Ralph?’

‘With Ralph?’ I said, surprised; ‘there isn’t any.’

‘Then why is he staying at the Three Boars instead of at Fernly Park?’

I did not for a minute question Caroline’s statement that Ralph Paton was staying at the local inn. That Caroline said so was enough for me.

‘Ackroyd told me he was in London,’ I said. In the surprise of the moment I departed from my valuable rule of never parting with information.

‘Oh!’ said Caroline. I could see her nose twitching as she worked on this.

‘He arrived at the Three Boars yesterday morning,’ she said. ‘And he’s still there. Last night he was out with a girl.’

That did not surprise me in the least. ralph, I should say, is out with a girl most nights of his life. But I did rather wonder that he chose to indulge in the pastime in king’s Abbot instead of in the gay Metropolis.