THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD - MURDER Astounding Stories of Super-Science October 2022, by Astounding Stories is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . here Astounding Stories of Super-Science October 2022: THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD - MURDER By Agatha Christie I got out the car in next to no time, and drove rapidly to Fernly. Jumping out, I pulled the bell impatiently. There was some delay in answering, and I rang again. Then I heard the rattle of the chain and Parker, his impassivity of countenance quite unmoved, stood in the open doorway. I pushed past him into the hall. “Where is he?” I demanded sharply. “I beg your pardon, sir?” “Your master. Mr. Ackroyd. Don’t stand there staring at me, man. Have you notified the police?” “The police, sir? Did you say the police?” Parker stared at me as though I were a ghost. “What’s the matter with you, Parker? If, as you say, your master has been murdered——” A gasp broke from Parker. “The master? Murdered? Impossible, sir!” It was my turn to stare. “Didn’t you telephone to me, not five minutes ago, and tell me that Mr. Ackroyd had been found murdered?” “Me, sir? Oh! no indeed, sir. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.” “Do you mean to say it’s all a hoax? That there’s nothing the matter with Mr. Ackroyd?” “Excuse me, sir, did the person telephoning use my name?” “I’ll give you the exact words I heard. ‘ ’” Is that Dr. Sheppard? Parker, the butler at Fernly, speaking. Will you please come at once, sir. Mr. Ackroyd has been murdered. Parker and I stared at each other blankly. “A very wicked joke to play, sir,” he said at last, in a shocked tone. “Fancy saying a thing like that.” “Where is Mr. Ackroyd?” I asked suddenly. “Still in the study, I fancy, sir. The ladies have gone to bed, and Major Blunt and Mr. Raymond are in the billiard room.” “I think I’ll just look in and see him for a minute,” I said. “I know he didn’t want to be disturbed again, but this odd practical joke has made me uneasy. I’d just like to satisfy myself that he’s all right.” “Quite so, sir. It makes me feel quite uneasy myself. If you don’t object to my accompanying you as far as the door, sir——?” “Not at all,” I said. “Come along.” I passed through the door on the right, Parker on my heels, traversed the little lobby where a small flight of stairs led upstairs to Ackroyd’s bedroom, and tapped on the study door. There was no answer. I turned the handle, but the door was locked. “Allow me, sir,” said Parker. Very nimbly, for a man of his build, he dropped on one knee and applied his eye to the keyhole. “Key is in the lock all right, sir,” he said, rising. “On the inside. Mr. Ackroyd must have locked himself in and possibly just dropped off to sleep.” I bent down and verified Parker’s statement. “It seems all right,” I said, “but, all the same, Parker, I’m going to wake your master up. I shouldn’t be satisfied to go home without hearing from his own lips that he’s quite all right.” So saying, I rattled the handle and called out, “Ackroyd, Ackroyd, just a minute.” But still there was no answer. I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t want to alarm the household,” I said hesitatingly. Parker went across and shut the door from the big hall through which we had come. “I think that will be all right now, sir. The billiard room is at the other side of the house, and so are the kitchen quarters and the ladies’ bedrooms.” I nodded comprehendingly. Then I banged once more frantically on the door, and stooping down, fairly bawled through the keyhole:— “Ackroyd, Ackroyd! It’s Sheppard. Let me in.” And still—silence. Not a sign of life from within the locked room. Parker and I glanced at each other. “Look here, Parker,” I said, “I’m going to break this door in—or rather, we are. I’ll take the responsibility.” “If you say so, sir,” said Parker, rather doubtfully. “I do say so. I’m seriously alarmed about Mr. Ackroyd.” I looked round the small lobby and picked up a heavy oak chair. Parker and I held it between us and advanced to the assault. Once, twice, and three times we hurled it against the lock. At the third blow it gave, and we staggered into the room. Ackroyd was sitting as I had left him in the arm-chair before the fire. His head had fallen sideways, and clearly visible, just below the collar of his coat, was a shining piece of twisted metalwork. Parker and I advanced till we stood over the recumbent figure. I heard the butler draw in his breath with a sharp hiss. “Stabbed from be’ind,” he murmured. “’Orrible!” He wiped his moist brow with his handkerchief, then stretched out a hand gingerly towards the hilt of the dagger. “You mustn’t touch that,” I said sharply. “Go at once to the telephone and ring up the police station. Inform them of what has happened. Then tell Mr. Raymond and Major Blunt.” “Very good, sir.” Parker hurried away, still wiping his perspiring brow. I did what little had to be done. I was careful not to disturb the position of the body, and not to handle the dagger at all. No object was to be attained by moving it. Ackroyd had clearly been dead some little time. Then I heard young Raymond’s voice, horror-stricken and incredulous, outside. “What do you say? Oh! impossible! Where’s the doctor?” He appeared impetuously in the doorway, then stopped dead, his face very white. A hand put him aside, and Hector Blunt came past him into the room. “My God!” said Raymond from behind him; “it’s true, then.” Blunt came straight on till he reached the chair. He bent over the body, and I thought that, like Parker, he was going to lay hold of the dagger hilt. I drew him back with one hand. “Nothing must be moved,” I explained. “The police must see him exactly as he is now.” Blunt nodded in instant comprehension. His face was expressionless as ever, but I thought I detected signs of emotion beneath the stolid mask. Geoffrey Raymond had joined us now, and stood peering over Blunt’s shoulder at the body. “This is terrible,” he said in a low voice. He had regained his composure, but as he took off the pince-nez he habitually wore and polished them I observed that his hand was shaking. “Robbery, I suppose,” he said. “How did the fellow get in? Through the window? Has anything been taken?” He went towards the desk. “You think it’s burglary?” I said slowly. “What else could it be? There’s no question of suicide, I suppose?” “No man could stab himself in such a way,” I said confidently. “It’s murder right enough. But with what motive?” “Roger hadn’t an enemy in the world,” said Blunt quietly. “Must have been burglars. But what was the thief after? Nothing seems to be disarranged?” He looked round the room. Raymond was still sorting the papers on the desk. “There seems nothing missing, and none of the drawers show signs of having been tampered with,” the secretary observed at last. “It’s very mysterious.” Blunt made a slight motion with his head. “There are some letters on the floor here,” he said. I looked down. Three or four letters still lay where Ackroyd had dropped them earlier in the evening. But the blue envelope containing Mrs. Ferrars’s letter had disappeared. I half opened my mouth to speak, but at that moment the sound of a bell pealed through the house. There was a confused murmur of voices in the hall, and then Parker appeared with our local inspector and a police constable. “Good evening, gentlemen,” said the inspector. “I’m terribly sorry for this! A good kind gentleman like Mr. Ackroyd. The butler says it is murder. No possibility of accident or suicide, doctor?” “None whatever,” I said. “Ah! A bad business.” He came and stood over the body. “Been moved at all?” he asked sharply. “Beyond making certain that life was extinct—an easy matter—I have not disturbed the body in any way.” “Ah! And everything points to the murderer having55 got clear away—for the moment, that is. Now then, let me hear all about it. Who found the body?” I explained the circumstances carefully. “A telephone message, you say? From the butler?” “A message that I never sent,” declared Parker earnestly. “I’ve not been near the telephone the whole evening. The others can bear me out that I haven’t.” “Very odd, that. Did it sound like Parker’s voice, doctor?” “Well—I can’t say I noticed. I took it for granted, you see.” “Naturally. Well, you got up here, broke in the door, and found poor Mr. Ackroyd like this. How long should you say he had been dead, doctor?” “Half an hour at least—perhaps longer,” I said. “The door was locked on the inside, you say? What about the window?” “I myself closed and bolted it earlier in the evening at Mr. Ackroyd’s request.” The inspector strode across to it and threw back the curtains. “Well, it’s open now anyway,” he remarked. True enough, the window was open, the lower sash being raised to its fullest extent. The inspector produced a pocket torch and flashed it along the sill outside. “This is the way he went all right,” he remarked, “ got in. See here.” and In the light of the powerful torch, several clearly defined footmarks could be seen. They seemed to be those56 of shoes with rubber studs in the soles. One particularly clear one pointed inwards, another, slightly overlapping it, pointed outwards. “Plain as a pikestaff,” said the inspector. “Any valuables missing?” Geoffrey Raymond shook his head. “Not so that we can discover. Mr. Ackroyd never kept anything of particular value in this room.” “H’m,” said the inspector. “Man found an open window. Climbed in, saw Mr. Ackroyd sitting there—maybe he’d fallen asleep. Man stabbed him from behind, then lost his nerve and made off. But he’s left his tracks pretty clearly. We ought to get hold of without much difficulty. No suspicious strangers been hanging about anywhere?” him “Oh!” I said suddenly. “What is it, doctor?” “I met a man this evening—just as I was turning out of the gate. He asked me the way to Fernly Park.” “What time would that be?” “Just nine o’clock. I heard it chime the hour as I was turning out of the gate.” “Can you describe him?” I did so to the best of my ability. The inspector turned to the butler. “Any one answering that description come to the front door?” “No, sir. No one has been to the house at all this evening.” “What about the back?” “I don’t think so, sir, but I’ll make inquiries.” He moved towards the door, but the inspector held up a large hand. “No, thanks. I’ll do my own inquiring. But first of all I want to fix the time a little more clearly. When was Mr. Ackroyd last seen alive?” “Probably by me,” I said, “when I left at—let me see—about ten minutes to nine. He told me that he didn’t wish to be disturbed, and I repeated the order to Parker.” “Just so, sir,” said Parker respectfully. “Mr. Ackroyd was certainly alive at half-past nine,” put in Raymond, “for I heard his voice in here talking.” “Who was he talking to?” “That I don’t know. Of course, at the time I took it for granted that it was Dr. Sheppard who was with him. I wanted to ask him a question about some papers I was engaged upon, but when I heard the voices I remembered that he had said he wanted to talk to Dr. Sheppard without being disturbed, and I went away again. But now it seems that the doctor had already left?” I nodded. “I was at home by a quarter-past nine,” I said. “I didn’t go out again until I received the telephone call.” “Who could have been with him at half-past nine?” queried the inspector. “It wasn’t you, Mr.—er——” “Major Blunt,” I said. “Major Hector Blunt?” asked the inspector, a respectful tone creeping into his voice. Blunt merely jerked his head affirmatively. “I think we’ve seen you down here before, sir,” said the58 inspector. “I didn’t recognize you for the moment, but you were staying with Mr. Ackroyd a year ago last May.” “June,” corrected Blunt. “Just so, June it was. Now, as I was saying, it wasn’t you with Mr. Ackroyd at nine-thirty this evening?” Blunt shook his head. “Never saw him after dinner,” he volunteered. The inspector turned once more to Raymond. “You didn’t overhear any of the conversation going on, did you, sir?” “I did catch just a fragment of it,” said the secretary, “and, supposing as I did that it was Dr. Sheppard who was with Mr. Ackroyd, that fragment struck me as distinctly odd. As far as I can remember, the exact words were these. Mr. Ackroyd was speaking. ‘The calls on my purse have been so frequent of late’—that is what he was saying—‘of late, that I fear it is impossible for me to accede to your request....’ I went away again at once, of course, so did not hear any more. But I rather wondered because Dr. Sheppard——” “——Does not ask for loans for himself or subscriptions for others,” I finished. “A demand for money,” said the inspector musingly. “It may be that here we have a very important clew.” He turned to the butler. “You say, Parker, that nobody was admitted by the front door this evening?” “That’s what I say, sir.” “Then it seems almost certain that Mr. Ackroyd himself59 must have admitted this stranger. But I don’t quite see——” The inspector went into a kind of day-dream for some minutes. “One thing’s clear,” he said at length, rousing himself from his absorption. “Mr. Ackroyd was alive and well at nine-thirty. That is the last moment at which he is known to have been alive.” Parker gave vent to an apologetic cough which brought the inspector’s eyes on him at once. “Well?” he said sharply. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, Miss Flora saw him after that.” “Miss Flora?” “Yes, sir. About a quarter to ten that would be. It was after that that she told me Mr. Ackroyd wasn’t to be disturbed again to-night.” “Did he send her to you with that message?” “Not exactly, sir. I was bringing a tray with soda and whisky when Miss Flora, who was just coming out of this room, stopped me and said her uncle didn’t want to be disturbed.” The inspector looked at the butler with rather closer attention than he had bestowed on him up to now. “You’d already been told that Mr. Ackroyd didn’t want to be disturbed, hadn’t you?” Parker began to stammer. His hands shook. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Quite so, sir.” “And yet you were proposing to do so?” “I’d forgotten, sir. At least I mean, I always bring60 the whisky and soda about that time, sir, and ask if there’s anything more, and I thought—well, I was doing as usual without thinking.” It was at this moment that it began to dawn upon me that Parker was most suspiciously flustered. The man was shaking and twitching all over. “H’m,” said the inspector. “I must see Miss Ackroyd at once. For the moment we’ll leave this room exactly as it is. I can return here after I’ve heard what Miss Ackroyd has to tell me. I shall just take the precaution of shutting and bolting the window.” This precaution accomplished, he led the way into the hall and we followed him. He paused a moment, as he glanced up at the little staircase, then spoke over his shoulder to the constable. “Jones, you’d better stay here. Don’t let any one go into that room.” Parker interposed deferentially. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. If you were to lock the door into the main hall, nobody could gain access to this part. That staircase leads only to Mr. Ackroyd’s bedroom and bathroom. There is no communication with the other part of the house. There once was a door through, but Mr. Ackroyd had it blocked up. He liked to feel that his suite was entirely private.” To make things clear and explain the position, I have appended a rough sketch of the right-hand wing of the house. The small staircase leads, as Parker explained, to a big bedroom (made by two being knocked into one) and an adjoining bathroom and lavatory. The inspector took in the position at a glance. We went through into the large hall and he locked the door behind him, slipping the key into his pocket. Then he gave the constable some low-voiced instructions, and the latter prepared to depart. “We must get busy on those shoe tracks,” explained the inspector. “But first of all, I must have a word with Miss Ackroyd. She was the last person to see her uncle alive. Does she know yet?” Raymond shook his head. “Well, no need to tell her for another five minutes. She can answer my questions better without being upset by knowing the truth about her uncle. Tell her there’s been a burglary, and ask her if she would mind dressing and coming down to answer a few questions.” It was Raymond who went upstairs on this errand. “Miss Ackroyd will be down in a minute,” he said, when he returned. “I told her just what you suggested.” In less than five minutes Flora descended the staircase. She was wrapped in a pale pink silk kimono. She looked anxious and excited. The inspector stepped forward. “Good-evening, Miss Ackroyd,” he said civilly. “We’re afraid there’s been an attempt at robbery, and we want you to help us. What’s this room—the billiard room? Come in here and sit down.” Flora sat down composedly on the wide divan which ran the length of the wall, and looked up at the inspector. “I don’t quite understand. What has been stolen? What do you want me to tell you?” “It’s just this, Miss Ackroyd. Parker here says you came out of your uncle’s study at about a quarter to ten. Is that right?” “Quite right. I had been to say good-night to him.” “And the time is correct?” “Well, it must have been about then. I can’t say exactly. It might have been later.” “Was your uncle alone, or was there any one with him?” “He was alone. Dr. Sheppard had gone.” “Did you happen to notice whether the window was open or shut?” Flora shook her head. “I can’t say. The curtains were drawn.” “Exactly. And your uncle seemed quite as usual?” “I think so.” “Do you mind telling us exactly what passed between you?” Flora paused a minute, as though to collect her recollections. “I went in and said, ‘Good-night, uncle, I’m going to bed now. I’m tired to-night.’ He gave a sort of grunt, and—I went over and kissed him, and he said something about my looking nice in the frock I had on, and then he told me to run away as he was busy. So I went.” “Did he ask specially not to be disturbed?” “Oh! yes, I forgot. He said: ‘Tell Parker I don’t want anything more to-night, and that he’s not to disturb me.’ I met Parker just outside the door and gave him uncle’s message.” “Just so,” said the inspector. “Won’t you tell me what it is that has been stolen?” “We’re not quite—certain,” said the inspector hesitatingly. A wide look of alarm came into the girl’s eyes. She started up. “What is it? You’re hiding something from me?” Moving in his usual unobtrusive manner, Hector Blunt came between her and the inspector. She half stretched out her hand, and he took it in both of his, patting it as though she were a very small child, and she turned to him as though something in his stolid, rocklike demeanor promised comfort and safety. “It’s bad news, Flora,” he said quietly. “Bad news for all of us. Your Uncle Roger——” “Yes?” “It will be a shock to you. Bound to be. Poor Roger’s dead.” Flora drew away from him, her eyes dilating with horror. “When?” she whispered. “When?” “Very soon after you left him, I’m afraid,” said Blunt gravely. Flora raised her hand to her throat, gave a little cry, and I hurried to catch her as she fell. She had fainted, and Blunt and I carried her upstairs and laid her on her bed. Then I got him to wake Mrs. Ackroyd and tell her the news. Flora soon revived, and I brought her mother to her, telling her what to do for the girl. Then I hurried downstairs again. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. Release date: OCTOBER 2, 2008, from This book is part of the public domain. Astounding Stories. (2008). ASTOUNDING STORIES OF SUPER-SCIENCE, JULY 2008. USA. Project Gutenberg. https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/69087/pg69087-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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