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‘Ah! indeed?’ said Poirot. In the mildest manner he conveyed an impression that more was wanted.

‘Thought I saw – a woman disappearing into the bushes. Just a gleam of white, you know. Must have been mistaken. It was while I was standing at the corner of the terrace that I heard Ackroyd’s voice speaking to that secretary of his.’

‘Speaking to Mr Geoffrey Raymond?’

‘Yes – that’s what I supposed at the time. Seems I was wrong.’

‘Mr Ackroyd didn’t address him by name?’


‘Oh, no.’

‘Then, if I may ask, why did you think-?’

Blunt explained laboriously.

‘Took it for granted that it would be Raymond, because he had said just before I came out that he was taking some papers to Ackroyd. Never thought of it being anybody else.’


‘Can you remember what the words you heard were?’

‘Afraid I can’t. Something quite ordinary and unimportant. only caught a scrap of it. I was thinking of something else at the time.’

‘It is of no importance,’ murmured Poirot. ‘did you move a chair back against the wall when you went into the study after the body was discove-

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