You’ve only got to look at her, I have heard her say. The symptoms of gastritis and arsenical poisoning are not, I agree, unlike, but Caroline bases her accusation on quite different lines.

Ferrars died of acute gastritis, helped on by habitual overindulgence in alcoholic beverages. She scorns my invariable rejoinder that Mr. Ferrars’ husband died just over a year ago, and Caroline has constantly asserted, without the least foundation for the assertion, that his wife poisoned him. She usually finds out just the same, but I have the moral satisfaction of knowing that I am in no way to blame. Therefore I have got into the habit of continually withholding all information possible from my sister. As a professional man, I naturally aim at discretion. Ferrars would be common knowledge all over the village within the space of an hour and a half. Whatever I told Caroline now concerning the demise of Mrs. It was really this last named trait of hers which was causing me these pangs of indecision. When she goes out, it is not to gather in information, but to spread it. I suspect that the servants and the tradesmen constitute her Intelligence Corps. I don’t know how she manages it, but there it is. Caroline can do any amount of finding out by sitting placidly at home. One might omit the first part of the motto. If Caroline ever adopts a crest, I should certainly suggest a mongoose rampant. But my instinct told me that there were stirring times ahead.įrom the dining room on my left there came the rattle of teacups and the short, dry cough of my sister Caroline.Īn unnecessary question, since who else could it be? To tell the truth, it was precisely my sister Caroline who was the cause of my few minutes’ delay. I am not going to pretend that at that moment I foresaw the events of the next few weeks. To tell the truth, I was considerably upset and worried. I opened the front door with my latchkey, and purposely delayed a few moments in the hall, hanging up my hat and the light overcoat that I had deemed a wise precaution against the chill of an early autumn morning.

It was just a few minutes after nine when I reached home once more. I was sent for at eight o’clock on the morning of Friday the 17th.

Ferrars died on the night of the 16th-17th September-a Thursday. Sheppard at the Breakfast TableĬhapter 3 - The Man Who Grew Vegetable MarrowsĬhapter 7 - I Learn My Neighbour’s ProfessionĬhapter 8 - Inspector Raglan Is ConfidentĬhapter 27 - Apologia Agatha Christie THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD Table of ContentsĬhapter 27 - Apologia Chapter 1 - Dr.

Ralph paton the murder of roger ackroyd