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"
Will
there
be
an
inquest
?
"
"
There
may
be
.
It
all
depends
.
If
I
am
able
to
declare
myself
absolutely
satisfied
that
the
overdose
was
taken
accidentally
,
an
inquest
might
be
dispensed
with
.
"
"
And
are
you
absolutely
satisfied
?
"
asked
my
sister
shrewdly
.
I
did
not
answer
,
but
got
up
from
the
table
.
Before
I
proceed
further
with
what
I
said
to
Caroline
and
what
Caroline
said
to
me
,
it
might
be
as
well
to
give
some
idea
of
what
I
should
describe
as
our
local
geography
.
Our
village
.
King
’
s
Abbot
,
is
,
I
imagine
,
very
much
like
any
other
village
.
Our
big
town
is
Cranchester
,
nine
miles
away
.
We
have
a
large
railway
station
,
a
small
post
office
,
and
two
rival
"
General
Stores
.
"
Able
-
bodied
men
are
apt
to
leave
the
place
early
in
life
,
but
we
are
rich
in
unmarried
ladies
and
retired
military
officers
.
Our
hobbies
and
recreations
can
be
summed
up
in
the
one
word
,
"
gossip
.
"
There
are
only
two
houses
of
any
importance
in
King
’
s
Abbot
.
One
is
King
’
s
Paddock
,
left
to
Mrs
.
Ferrars
by
her
late
husband
.
The
other
,
Fernly
Park
,
is
owned
by
Roger
Ackroyd
.
Ackroyd
has
always
interested
me
by
being
a
man
more
impossibly
like
a
country
squire
than
any
country
squire
could
really
be
.
He
reminds
one
of
the
red
-
faced
sportsmen
who
always
appeared
early
in
the
first
act
of
an
old
-
fashioned
musical
comedy
,
the
setting
being
the
village
green
.
They
usually
sang
a
song
about
going
up
to
London
.
Nowadays
we
have
revues
,
and
the
country
squire
has
died
out
of
musical
fashion
.
Of
course
,
Ackroyd
is
not
really
a
country
squire
.
He
is
an
immensely
successful
manufacturer
of
(
I
think
)
wagon
wheels
.
He
is
a
man
of
nearly
fifty
years
of
age
,
rubicund
of
face
and
genial
of
manner
.
He
is
hand
and
glove
with
the
vicar
,
subscribes
liberally
to
parish
funds
(
though
rumour
has
it
that
he
is
extremely
mean
in
personal
expenditure
)
,
encourages
cricket
matches
,
Lads
"
Clubs
,
and
Disabled
Soldiers
"
Institutes
.
He
is
,
in
fact
,
the
life
and
soul
of
our
peaceful
village
of
King
’
s
Abbot
.
Now
when
Roger
Ackroyd
was
a
lad
of
twenty
-
one
,
he
fell
in
love
with
,
and
married
,
a
beautiful
woman
some
five
or
six
years
his
senior
.
Her
name
was
Paton
,
and
she
was
a
widow
with
one
child
.
The
history
of
the
marriage
was
short
and
painful
.
To
put
it
bluntly
,
Mrs
.
Ackroyd
was
a
dipsomaniac
.
She
succeeded
in
drinking
herself
into
her
grave
four
years
after
her
marriage
.
In
the
years
that
followed
,
Ackroyd
showed
no
disposition
to
make
a
second
matrimonial
adventure
.
His
wife
’
s
child
by
her
first
marriage
was
only
seven
years
old
when
his
mother
died
.
He
is
now
twenty
-
five
.
Ackroyd
has
always
regarded
him
as
his
own
son
,
and
has
brought
him
up
accordingly
,
but
he
has
been
a
wild
lad
and
a
continual
source
of
worry
and
trouble
to
his
stepfather
.
Nevertheless
we
are
all
very
fond
of
Ralph
Paton
in
King
’
s
Abbot
.
He
is
such
a
good
-
looking
youngster
for
one
thing
.
