The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

I DR. SHEPPARD AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE

II WHO’S WHO IN KING’S ABBOT

III THE MAN WHO GREW VEGETABLE MARROWS

IV DINNER AT FERNLY

V MURDER

VI THE TUNISIAN DAGGER

VII I LEARN MY NEIGHBOR’S PROFESSION

VIII INSPECTOR RAGLAN IS CONFIDENT

IX THE GOLDFISH POND

X THE PARLORMAID

XI POIROT PAYS A CALL

XII ROUND THE TABLE

XIII THE GOOSE QUILL

XIV MRS. ACKROYD

XV GEOFFREY RAYMOND

XVI AN EVENING AT MAH JONG

XVII PARKER

XVIII CHARLES KENT

XIX FLORA ACKROYD

XX MISS

XXI THE PARAGRAPH IN THE PAPER

XXII URSULA’S STORY

XXIII POIROT’S LITTLE REUNION

XXIV RALPH PATON’S STORY

XXV THE WHOLE TRUTH

XXVI AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

XXVII APOLOGIA

Mrs. Ferrars died on the night of the 16th–17th September—a Thursday. I was sent for at eight o’clock on the morning of Friday the 17th. There was nothing to be done. She had been dead some hours.

It was just a few minutes after nine when I reached home once more. I opened the front door with my latch-key, 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. To tell the truth, I was considerably upset and worried. I am not going to pretend that at that moment I foresaw the events of the next few weeks. I emphatically did not do so. But my instinct told me that there were stirring times ahead.

From the dining-room on my left there came the rattle of tea-cups and the short, dry cough of my sister Caroline.

“Is that you, James?” she called.

An 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. The motto of the mongoose family, so Mr. Kipling tells us, is: “Go and find out.” If Caroline ever adopts a crest, I should certainly suggest a mongoose rampant.