The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

‘You could have hung up half a dozen overcoats in this time.’ She was quite right. I could have.

I walked into the dining-room, gave Caroline the accustomed peck on the cheek, and sat down to eggs and bacon. The bacon was rather cold.

‘You’ve had an early call,’ remarked Caroline.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘King’s Paddock. Mrs Ferrars.’

‘I know,’ said my sister.

‘How did you know?’

‘Annie told me.’

Annie is the house parlourmaid. A nice girl, but an inveterate talker.

There was a pause. I continued to eat eggs and bacon. My sister’s nose, which is long and thin, quivered a little at the tip, as it always does when she is interested or excited over anything.

‘Well?’ she demanded.

‘A sad business. Nothing to be done. Must have died in her sleep.’

‘I know,’ said my sister again. This time I was annoyed.

‘You can’t know,’ I snapped. ‘I didn’t know myself until I got there, and haven’t mentioned it to a soul yet. If that girl Annie knows, she must be a clairvoyant.’

‘It wasn’t Annie who told me. It was the milkman. he had it from the Ferrarses’ cook.’