The Act of Roger Murgatroyd Read Online Free PDF

the Colonel:
    ‘Did you by any chance take a look’ – he pointed down at the body of Raymond Gentry – ‘inside the pockets of his robe?’
    ‘Certainly not. I already told you, Chief-Inspector, we touched nothing.’
    Without further ado, Trubshawe bent down and inserted his hand first into the left, then the right pocket of Gentry’s blood-stained bathrobe.
    From the left pocket he came up empty-handed. But, from the right, he pulled out a single sheet of crumpled paper. He bent back up and, without addressing a word to anybody, impassively unfolded it.
    On one side of the paper four or five lines, mostly just strings of capital letters, had been typed out. These, he took a few seconds to peruse.
    ‘Nothing relevant to the case, I assume?’ said the Colonel, trying in vain to squint at the text.
    ‘On the contrary,’ said Trubshawe. ‘Something extremely relevant to the case. A major discovery, if I’m not mistaken.’
    He folded the sheet up and slipped it into his own jacket pocket.
    ‘Tell me, Colonel, did all your guests share your distaste for Gentry?’
    ‘None of them could stand the horrible little tick. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Oh, I have my reasons,’ the Chief-Inspector replied noncommittally.
    ‘You know, Trubshawe …’
    Once more it was Evadne Mount who had cut in.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Major discoveries are all very well,’ she cavalierly remarked, ‘but sometimes they turn out to be of less significance than minor oddities.’
    ‘Minor oddities?’
    Drawing the tip of her index finger along one of the attic’s floorboards, she held it up for his inspection.
    ‘Why,’ he said, peering at her fingertip, ‘I see nothing there.’
    ‘That,’ she said, ‘is the minor oddity.’

Chapter Three
    Downstairs in the drawing-room the ffolkeses’ house-guests were looking more dishevelled than ever. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, two of the womenfolk, Mary ffolkes and Cynthia Wattis, the Vicar’s wife, had nodded off, faded fashion magazines lying half-browsed on their laps, and even Chitty, who prided himself that his employers had never once had occasion to see him other than unbowed and upright, was starting to flag.
    When the Colonel entered, however, followed by the rest of the small investigative party, they all wearily roused themselves, the women adjusting their hair, the men re-knotting the cords of their dressing-gowns, and waited expectantly to hear what the man from Scotland Yard had to say.
    It was, however, Roger ffolkes who spoke first. Turning to the Chief-Inspector, he asked:
    ‘Perhaps now you’d like me to introduce my guests?’
    ‘Certainly,’ said Trubshawe. ‘Be my guest. Or rather, be my host, what?’
    ‘Ha, very neat, yes,’ said the Colonel with a half-hearted smile. ‘Oh, and I trust you’ll excuse our varying states of undress. We’ve all been caught a bit off-guard, you know.’
    ‘Please, please … In my profession, ladies, gentlemen, I’m quite used to it. I remember once arresting a villain while he was taking his bath. Can you believe it, even though I’d begun to read him his rights – “You aren’t obliged to say anything, but anything you do say, etc., etc.” – he continued to sit there calmly soaping himself!
    ‘When I protested, you know what his answer was, the cheeky blighter? “You do want me to come clean, don’t you, Mr Trubshawe?”’
    There was more mild laughter at this witticism. But since no one was really in the mood for jocular wordplay, the Colonel at once proceeded to the round of presentations.
    ‘Well now, Trubshawe – cigarettes on the table beside you, by the way, so please do help yourself.’
    ‘Thanks, but I’ll stick to this if you don’t mind,’ answered the Chief-Inspector, waving his still-unlit pipe in the air.
    ‘As you wish,’ said the Colonel. ‘Now, let’s see. On the sofa near the fireplace, over there, that’s Clem Wattis, our Vicar, and his wife, Cynthia. Next to Cynthia is Cora