But let us suppose that something occurs.
He is in difficulties - or perhaps not that even. He may stumble by accident on a secret - a secret involving life or death to someone.
And his first impulse will be to speak out - to do his duty as an honest citizen.
And then the strain of weakness tells.
Here is a chance of money - a great amount of money.
He wants money - he desires it - and it is so easy.
He has to do nothing for it - just keep silence.
That is the beginning.
The desire for money grows.
He must have more - and more!
He is intoxicated by the gold mine which has opened at his feet.
He becomes greedy. And in his greed he overreaches himself.
One can press a man as far as one likes - but with a woman one must not press too far.
For a woman has at heart a great desire to speak the truth.
How many husbands who have deceived their wives go comfortably to their graves, carrying their secret with them!
How many wives who have deceived their husbands wreck their lives by throwing the fact in those same husbands’ teeth!
They have been pressed too far. In a reckless moment (which they will afterwards regret, bien entendu) they fling safety to the winds and turn at bay, proclaiming the truth with great momentary satisfaction to themselves.
So it was, I think, in this case.
The strain was too great. And so there came your proverb, the death of the goose that laid the golden eggs.
But that is not the end.
Exposure faced the man of whom we are speaking.
And he is not the same man he was - say, a year ago.
His moral fibre is blunted.
He is desperate. He is fighting a losing battle, and he is prepared to take any means that come to his hand, for exposure means ruin to him.
And so - the dagger strikes!’
He was silent for a moment.
It was as though he had laid a spell upon the room.
I cannot try to describe the impression his words produced.
There was something in the merciless analysis, and the ruthless power of vision which struck fear into both of us.
‘Afterwards,’ he went on softly, ‘the dagger removed, he will be himself again, normal, kindly.
But if the need again arises, then once more he will strike.’
Caroline roused herself at last.
‘You are speaking of Ralph Paton,’ she said. ‘You may be right, you may not, but you have no business to condemn a man unheard.’
The telephone bell rang sharply.
I went out into the hall, and took off the receiver.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Yes. Dr Sheppard speaking.’
I listened for a minute or two, then replied briefly. Replacing the receiver, I went back into the drawing-room.
‘Poirot,’ I said, ‘they have detained a man at Liverpool. His name is Charles Kent, and he is believed to be the stranger who visited Fernly that night.
They want me to go to Liverpool at once and identify him.’
Chapter 18
Charles Kent
Half an hour later saw Poirot, myself, and Inspector Raglan in the train on the way to Liverpool.
The inspector was clearly very excited.
‘We may get a line on the blackmailing part of the business, if on nothing else,’ he declared jubilantly.
‘He’s a rough customer, this fellow, by what I heard over the phone.
Takes dope, too.
We ought to find it easy to get what we want out of him. If there was the shadow of a motive, nothing’s more likely than that he killed Mr Ackroyd.
But in that case, why is young Paton keeping out of the way.
The whole thing’s a muddle - that’s what it is.