And Nothing But The Truth

           Therewasadeadsilenceforaminuteandahalf.

           ThenIlaughed.

           "You’remad,"Isaid.

           "No,"saidPoirotplacidly."Iamnotmad.Itwasthelittlediscrepancyintimethatfirstdrewmyattentiontoyou–rightatthebeginning.""Discrepancyintime?"Iqueried,puzzled.

           "Butyes.Youwillrememberthateveryoneagreed–youyourselfincluded–thatittookfiveminutestowalkfromthelodgetothehouse–lessifyoutooktheshortcuttotheterrace.Butyouleftthehouseattenminutestonine–bothbyyourownstatementandthatofParker,andyetitwasnineo’clockwhenyoupassedthroughthelodgegates.Itwasachillynight–notaneveningamanwouldbeinclinedtodawdle;whyhadyoutakentenminutestodoafiveminutes"walk?AllalongIrealizedthatwehadonlyyourstatementforitthatthestudywindowwaseverfastened.Ackroydaskedyouifyouhaddoneso–heneverlookedtosee.Supposing,then,thatthestudywindowwasunfastened?Wouldtherebetimeinthattenminutesforyoutorunroundtheoutsideofthehouse,changeyourshoes,climbinthroughthewindow,killAckroyd,andgettothegatebynineo’clock?IdecidedagainstthattheorysinceinallprobabilityamanasnervousasAckroydwasthatnightwouldhearyouclimbingin,andthentherewouldhavebeenastruggle.