The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

Poirot!’ she said. ‘Now, what do you think of that?’

I thought a good many things of it, but I was careful not to say them to Caroline.

‘Why did he come?’ I asked.

‘To see me, of course. He said that, knowing my brother so well, he hoped he might be permitted to make the acquaintance of his charming sister – your charming sister, I’ve got mixed up – but you know what I mean.’

‘What did he talk about?’ I asked.

‘He told me a lot about himself and his cases. You know that Prince Paul of Mauretania – the one who’s just married a dancer?’

‘Yes?’

‘I saw a most intriguing paragraph about her in Society Snippets the other day, hinting that she was really a russian grand duchess – one of the czar’s daughters who managed to escape from the Bolsheviks.

‘Did he give him an emerald tie pin the size of a plover’s egg?’ I inquired sarcastically.

‘He didn’t mention it. Why?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I thought it was always done. It is in detective fiction anyway. The super-detective always has his rooms littered with rubies and pearls and emeralds from grateful royal clients.’

‘It’s very interesting to hear about these things from the inside,’ said my sister complacently.

It would be – to Caroline. I could not but admire the ingenuity of M. Hercule Poirot, who had selected unerringly the case of all others that would most appeal to an elderly lady living in a small village.

‘Did he tell you if the dancer was really a grand duchess?’ I inquired.

‘He was not at liberty to speak,’ said Caroline importantly.

I wondered how far Poirot had strained the truth in talking to Caroline – probably not at all. he had conveyed his innuendoes by means of his eyebrows and his shoulders.

‘And after all this,’ I remarked, ‘I suppose you were ready to eat out of his hand?’

‘Don’t be coarse, James.

‘Probably from my only link with the outside world – my patients. unfortunately, my practice does not lie amongst royal princes and interesting russian еmigrеs.’

Caroline pushed her spectacles up and looked at me.

‘You seem very grumpy, James. It must be your liver. A blue pill, I think, tonight.’

To see me in my own home, you would never imagine that I was a doctor of medicine.