The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Hercule Poirot, #4)

by Agatha Christie

I noticed, just as I was turning the handle, a sound from within—the shutting down of a window, I took it to be. I noticed it, I may say, quite mechanically, without attaching any importance to it at the time. I opened the door and walked in. As I did so I almost collided with Miss Russell who was just coming out. We both apologized.

The letter had been brought in at twenty minutes to nine. It was just on ten minutes to nine when I left him, the letter still unread.

The village church clock chimed nine o’clock as I passed through the lodge gates.