The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

I have always wanted to go to South America. I sighed, and then looked up to find Mr Porrott eyeing me sympathetically. he seemed an understanding little man.

‘Will you go there, yes?’ he asked.

‘I could have gone,’ I said. ‘A year ago. But I was foolish- and worse than foolish – greedy. I risked the substance for the shadow.’

‘I comprehend,’ said Mr Porrott. ‘You speculated?’

I nodded mournfully, but in spite of myself I felt secretly entertained. This ridiculous little man was so portentously solemn.

‘Not the Porcupine oilfields?’ he asked suddenly.

I stared.

‘I thought of them, as a matter of fact, but in the end I plumped for a gold mine in Western Australia.’

My neighbour was regarding me with a strange expression which I could not fathom.

‘It is fate,’ he said at last.

‘What is fate?’ I asked irritably.

‘That I should live next to a man who seriously considers Porcupine oilfields, and also West Australian gold Mines. Tell me, have you also a penchant for auburn hair?’

I stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing.