‘Mr Ackroyd had perfect faith in the honesty of all the servants,’ he said hotly.
‘Oh! quite so,’ said the inspector hastily.
Raymond opened the drawer, took out a round leather collar-box from the back of it, and opening it, drew out a thick wallet.
‘Here is the money,’ he said, taking out a fat roll of notes. ‘You will find the hundred intact, I know, for Mr Ackroyd put it in the collar-box in my presence last night when he was dressing for dinner, and of course it has not been touched since.’
Mr hammond took the roll from him and counted it. he looked up sharply.
‘A hundred pounds, you said. But there is only sixty here.’
Raymond stared at him.
‘Impossible,’ he cried, springing forward. Taking the notes from the other’s hand, he counted them aloud.
Mr Hammond had been right. The total amounted to sixty pounds.
‘But – I can’t understand it,’ cried the secretary, bewildered.
Poirot asked a question.
‘You saw Mr Ackroyd put this money away last night when he was dressing for dinner? You are sure he had not paid away any of it already?’
‘I’m sure he hadn’t. He even said, “I don’t want to take a hundred pounds down to dinner with me. Too bulgy.”’
‘Then the affair is very simple,’ remarked Poirot. ‘either he paid out that forty pounds some time last evening, or else it has been stolen.’
‘That’s the matter in a nutshell,’ agreed the inspector. he turned to Mrs Ackroyd. ‘Which of the servants would come in here yesterday evening?’
‘I suppose the housemaid would turn down the bed.’
‘Who is she? What do you know about her?’
‘She’s not been here very long,’ said Mrs Ackroyd. ‘But she’s a nice ordinary country girl.’
‘I think we ought to clear this matter up,’ said the inspector. ‘If Mr Ackroyd paid that money away himself, it may have a bearing on the mystery of the crime. The other servants all right, as far as you know?’
‘Oh, I think so.’
‘Not missed anything before?’
‘No.’
‘None of them leaving, or anything like that?’
‘The parlourmaid is leaving.’
‘When?’
‘She gave notice yesterday, I believe.’
‘To you?’
‘Oh, no. I have nothing to do with the servants. Miss Russell attends to the household matters.’
The inspector remained lost in thought for a minute or two. Then he nodded his head and remarked,
‘I think I’d better have a word with Miss Russell, and I’ll see the girl Dale as well.’
Poirot and I accompanied him to the housekeeper’s room. Miss Russell received us with her usual sang-froid. Elsie Dale had been at Fernly five months. A nice girl, quick at her duties, and most respectable. good references. The last girl in the world to take anything not belonging to her.
What about the parlourmaid?
‘She, too, was a most superior girl. Very quiet and ladylike. An excellent worker.’
‘Then why is she leaving?’ asked the inspector.
Miss Russell pursed up her lips. ‘It was none of my doing. I understand Mr Ackroyd found fault with her yesterday afternoon. It was her duty to do the study, and she disarranged some of the papers on his desk, I believe. he was very annoyed about it, and she gave notice. At least, that is what I understood from her, but perhaps you’d like to see her yourselves?’
The inspector assented. I had already noticed the girl when she was waiting on us at lunch. A tall girl, with a lot of brown hair rolled tightly away at the back of her neck, and very steady grey eyes. She came in answer to the housekeeper’s summons, and stood very straight with those same grey eyes fixed on us.
