Is Poirot a Psychopath? A critical look at The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
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November with a few of my favorite entries from Lawrence Block’s “Burglar,” series. In December I generally sample more recent offerings—this past year reacquainted me with Molly the Maid from Nita Prose’s recent but deservedly successful “Maid,” series.
By January I’ll have unerringly returned to the true and—by my estimation—unsurpassable master of crime fiction: Agatha Christie.
This last January I read The Murder of Roger Akroyd for the third time. This novel, fourth in the Poirot series, remains one of Christie’s most famous works for its masterful use of the unreliable narrator trope.
However, it’s what happens after the famous reveal that always startles and surprises me. A subtle savagery to Poirot that is rarely discussed or considered. In this article, I take a close look at the dangerous side of crime fiction’s greatest detective.
Oh—fair warning—there are spoilers ahead.
Understanding Poirot
Poirot is the very mold by which the gentleman detective was invented. Arguably the standout character of the detective genre’s golden era, Poirot captivates with his presence. He is quirky and odd with an attention-grabbing mustache and hair so suspiciously black that it’s almost a character flaw.
He is unerringly polite and calm even in the most dramatic of situations—which is good because he can’t seem to even hop on a train without stumbling into a murder—and he’s never less than completely sure of himself.
With good reason. Poirot’s method and “little grey cells,” help him put away dozens of killers throughout more than thirty books.
And yet there is something very dark indeed lurking beneath the Belgian’s quirky presence and polite persona. A dark side capable of violence and manipulation of the worst kind.
It’s actually Poirot’s capacity for violence that ultimately sees him off to the great cozy mystery in the sky. In his final novel, Curtain, Poirot orchestrates what is essentially a murder-suicide to stop a serial killer.
However, this is far from the first life that Poirot takes in the series.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd begins with the death of a local widow. The details of her death are supplied by Dr. Sheppard—the novel’s narrator and protagonist. Sheppard treated the dead woman--Mrs. Ferrars—and reveals that the earlier death of her husband was viewed in the community with a degree of suspicion.
Even Dr. Sheppard’s sister believed that Mrs. Ferrars had killed her husband.
Later that day, Sheppard is approached by Roger Ackroyd, Mrs. Ferrars’s fiancé, who invites the doctor to dinner.
Over drinks, Ackroyd reveals that Mrs. Ferrars had, in fact, killed her husband. What’s more, she was being blackmailed and he had that day received a letter from the late Mrs. Ferrars revealing the blackmailer’s identity.
Sheppard leaves Ackroyd to his letter. Shortly after arriving home, he receives a phone call declaring that Ackroyd had been killed. He rushes back to the house and discovers the body.
The circumstances of the case, though odd, pointed local law enforcement in the direction of Ackroyd’s stepson—the somewhat notorious Ralph Paton.
Can you say “Red herring”?
Poor old Ralph might well have taken the fall, but guess who just moved into town? That’s right. An old Belgium by the name of Hercule Poirot.
Poirot had settled into a quiet retirement, indulging in his apparent hobby of growing “vegetable marrow” (basically, zucchini).
Poirot readily accepts the case and—with the help of Sheppard—begins sorting through evidence.
The third to last chapter is your classic detective novel parlor scene. Poirot collects all of the potential suspects in one room and explains the details of the case as he understands them. At this point, most townspeople still suspect Ralph Paton who has been MIA since Ackroyd’s body was discovered.
Poirot shocks everyone by revealing Paton is innocent. But just as the audience begins to assume Poirot will reveal the killer, he does something surprising.
He lets everyone leave, with a warning:
“To save Captain Paton, the real criminal must confess. Yes, I mean what I say. I did not invite the inspector to be present. That was for a reason. I did not want to tell him everything I knew. At least I did not want to tell him…tonight.”
The narrator notes that Poirot abruptly assumes a dangerous affect.
“I know the murderer of Mr. Ackroyd is in this room now. It is to the murderer I speak. Tomorrow, the truth goes to Inspector Raglan. Do you understand?”
With that he dismisses them all, staying behind to chat with our narrator. For several pages, they carry on in the light fashion that has characterized their encounters up until this point. Sheppard confesses to being stumped by the case and coyly suggests that Poirot does not actually know who did it.
Poirot assures him this isn’t true and they begin reviewing the details.
Slowly the reader comes to understand that the evidence is narrowing around one character. The most unlikely suspect in the entire book.
Dr. Sheppard.
We come to find out that Sheppard has been up to some bad business.
“It was you who blackmailed Mrs. Farras. Who could have had better knowledge of what killed Mr. Farras than the doctor who took care of him?”
Poirot explains that Sheppard extracted $20,000 from Mrs. Farras (closer to $300,000 in today’s money). He lost the money in a bad investment and decided to put pressure on Mrs. Farras for more, leading to her suicide.
He killed Ackroyd to prevent him from learning this truth, thus protecting his reputation.
Sheppard is stunned into silence for several moments. He tries feebly to deny Poirot’s accusations but to no effect. However, the detective isn’t done yet.
“For the sake of your good sister, I am willing to give you another way out. There might be, for instance, an overdose of a sleeping draft. You comprehend me?”
And with that, Poirot leaves.
The novel ends with Sheppard taking Poirot’s way out. He completes the manuscript by confessing to the murder. Then, he presumably dies from an overdose of “sleeping draft.”
What does this say about Poirot?
It’s an incredibly macabre ending to a book series known for its very polite approach to violence. Christie left a lot of fictional bodies behind in her wake, but almost always under circumstances you could discuss over lunch at a restaurant.
A forced suicide falls decidedly out of that category.
Why does Poirot take this extreme measure here?
Ackroyd’s ending provides us with a more complicated look at how Poirot sometimes dips his foot into anti-hero territory.
His specific rationale is clear—even if distasteful. He has taken a genuine liking to Sheppard and his sister. Rather than cause the family pain in the form of a murder conviction—he allows Sheppard the opportunity to take a more peaceful way out.
Poirot’s condition is straightforward: If Sheppard leaves behind evidence that clears Patton of the crime, he will make sure that the investigation ends with that. No one will be saddled with the murder conviction.
Readers at the time also probably would have been very aware of the fact that, if convicted, Sheppard likely would have been executed. Murder was a capital offense in England at the time of the novel’s publication.
Poirot’s ultimatum only shortened a life that was soon to expire anyway.
It’s still an uncomfortable notion but one that becomes slightly more tolerable with context.
Perhaps more to the point, however, is the way this ending sets the tone for Poirot going forward. We learn that behind his rigidity there is a man capable of surprising us. Someone who will bend the rules to accommodate unique circumstances.
It’s this very quality that shapes some of the best endings in the entire series. Murder on the Orient Express, Death on the Nile, and Curtain all owe their stunning conclusions to Poirot’s quiet refusal to stay in the box we as readers so naturally inclined to put him in.