THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
"Our new neighbor."
Caroline visibly wavered for a second or two, much as a roulette ball might coyly hover between two numbers. Then she declined the tempting red herring.
"I told Mr. Ackroyd that Ralph was staying at the Three Boars."
"Caroline," I said, "do you never reflect that you might do a lot of harm with this habit of yours of repeating everything indiscriminately?"
"Nonsense," said my sister. "People ought to know things. I consider it my duty to tell them. Mr. Ackroyd was very grateful to me."
"Well?" I said, for there was clearly more to come.
"I think he went straight off to the Three Boars, but if so he didn't find Ralph there."
"No?"
"No. Because as I was coming back through the wood———"
"Coming back through the wood?"' I interrupted.
Caroline had the grace to blush.
"It was such a lovely day," she exclaimed. "I thought I would make a little round. The woods with their autumnal tints are so perfect at this time of year."
Caroline does not care a hang for woods at any time of year. Normally she regards them as places where you get your feet damp, and where all kinds of unpleasant things may drop on your head. No, it was good sound mongoose instinct which took her to our local wood. It is the only place adjacent to the village of King's Abbot
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