Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles Ch.VII-XIII
had lain by for some time. But it was the label that was `
` attracting Poirot's attention. At the top, it bore the printed `
` stamp of Messrs. Parkson's, the well-known theatrical `
` costumiers, and it was addressed to "--(the debatable initial) `
` Cavendish, Esq., Styles Court, Styles St. Mary, Essex." `
` `
` "It might be T., or it might be L.," I said, after studying the `
` thing for a minute or two. "It certainly isn't a J." `
` `
` "Good," replied Poirot, folding up the paper again. "I, also, am `
` of your way of thinking. It is an L., depend upon it!" `
` `
` "Where did it come from?" I asked curiously. "Is it important?" `
` `
` "Moderately so. It confirms a surmise of mine. Having deduced `
` its existence, I set Miss Howard to search for it, and, as you `
` see, she has been successful." `
` `
` "What did she mean by 'On the top of the wardrobe'?" `
` `
` "She meant," replied Poirot promptly, "that she found it on top `
` of a wardrobe." `
` `
` "A funny place for a piece of brown paper," I mused. `
` `
` "Not at all. The top of a wardrobe is an excellent place for `
` brown paper and cardboard boxes. I have kept them there myself. `
` Neatly arranged, there is nothing to offend the eye." `
` `
` "Poirot," I asked earnestly, "have you made up your mind about `
` this crime?" `
` `
` "Yes--that is to say, I believe I know how it was committed." `
` `
` "Ah!" `
` `
` "Unfortunately, I have no proof beyond my surmise, unless----" `
` With sudden energy, he caught me by the arm, and whirled me down `
` the hall, calling out in French in his excitement: "Mademoiselle `
` Dorcas, Mademoiselle Dorcas, un moment, s'il vous plait!" `
` `
` Dorcas, quite flurried by the noise, came hurrying out of the `
` pantry. `
` `
` "My good Dorcas, I have an idea--a little idea--if it should `
` prove justified, what magnificent chance! Tell me, on Monday, not `
` Tuesday, Dorcas, but Monday, the day before the tragedy, did `
` anything go wrong with Mrs. Inglethorp's bell?" `
` `
` Dorcas looked very surprised. `
` `
` "Yes, sir, now you mention it, it did; though I don't know how `
` you came to hear of it. A mouse, or some such, must have nibbled `
` the wire through. The man came and put it right on Tuesday `
` morning." `
` `
` With a long drawn exclamation of ecstasy, Poirot led the way back `
` to the morning-room. `
` `
` "See you, one should not ask for outside proof--no, reason should `
` be enough. But the flesh is weak, it is consolation to find that `
` one is on the right track. Ah, my friend, I am like a giant `
` refreshed. I run! I leap!" `
` `
` And, in very truth, run and leap he did, gambolling wildly down `
` the stretch of lawn outside the long window. `
` `
` "What is your remarkable little friend doing?" asked a voice `
` behind me, and I turned to find Mary Cavendish at my elbow. She `
` smiled, and so did I. "What is it all about?" `
` `
` "Really, I can't tell you. He asked Dorcas some question about a `
` bell, and appeared so delighted with her answer that he is `
` capering about as you see!" `
` `
` Mary laughed. `
` `
` "How ridiculous! He's going out of the gate. Isn't he coming `
` back to-day?" `
` `
` "I don't know. I've given up trying to guess what he'll do `
` next." `
` `
` "Is he quite mad, Mr. Hastings?" `
` `
` "I honestly don't know. Sometimes, I feel sure he is as mad as a `
` hatter; and then, just as he is at his maddest, I find there is `
` method in his madness." `
` `
` "I see." `
` `
` In spite of her laugh, Mary was looking thoughtful this morning. `
` She seemed grave, almost sad. `
` `
` It occurred to me that it would be a good opportunity to tackle `
` her on the subject of Cynthia. I began rather tactfully, I `
` thought, but I had not gone far before she stopped me `
` authoritatively. `
` `
` "You are an excellent advocate, I have no doubt, Mr. Hastings, `
` but in this case your talents are quite thrown away. Cynthia `
` will run no risk of encountering any unkindness from me." `
` `
` I began to stammer feebly that I hoped she hadn't thought--But `
` again she stopped me, and her words were so unexpected that they `
` quite drove Cynthia, and her troubles, out of my mind. `
` `
` "Mr. Hastings," she said, "do you think I and my husband are `
` happy together?" `
` `
` I was considerably taken aback, and murmured something about it's `
` not being my business to think anything of the sort. `
` `
` "Well," she said quietly, "whether it is your business or not, I `
` will tell you that we are _not_ happy." `
` `
` I said nothing, for I saw that she had not finished. `
` `
` She began slowly, walking up and down the room, her head a little `
` bent, and that slim, supple figure of hers swaying gently as she `
` walked. She stopped suddenly, and looked up at me. `
` `
` "You don't know anything about me, do you?" she asked. "Where I `
` come from, who I was before I married John--anything, in fact? `
` Well, I will tell you. I will make a father confessor of you. `
` You are kind, I think--yes, I am sure you are kind." `
` `
` Somehow, I was not quite as elated as I might have been. I `
` remembered that Cynthia had begun her confidences in much the `
` same way. Besides, a father confessor should be elderly, it is `
` not at all the role for a young man. `
` `
` "My father was English," said Mrs. Cavendish, "but my mother was `
` a Russian." `
` `
` "Ah," I said, "now I understand--" `
` `
` "Understand what?" `
` `
` "A hint of something foreign--different--that there has always `
` been about you." `
` `
` "My mother was very beautiful, I believe. I don't know, because `
` I never saw her. She died when I was quite a little child. I `
` believe there was some tragedy connected with her death--she took `
` an overdose of some sleeping draught by mistake. However that `
` may be, my father was broken-hearted. Shortly afterwards, he `
` went into the Consular Service. Everywhere he went, I went with `
` him. When I was twenty-three, I had been nearly all over the `
` world. It was a splendid life--I loved it." `
` `
` There was a smile on her face, and her head was thrown back. She `
` seemed living in the memory of those old glad days. `
` `
` "Then my father died. He left me very badly off. I had to go `
` and live with some old aunts in Yorkshire." She shuddered. "You `
` will understand me when I say that it was a deadly life for a `
` girl brought up as I had been. The narrowness, the deadly `
` monotony of it, almost drove me mad." She paused a minute, and `
` added in a different tone: "And then I met John Cavendish." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "You can imagine that, from my aunts' point of view, it was a `
` very good match for me. But I can honestly say it was not this `
` fact which weighed with me. No, he was simply a way of escape `
` from the insufferable monotony of my life." `
` `
` I said nothing, and after a moment, she went on: `
` `
` "Don't misunderstand me. I was quite honest with him. I told `
` him, what was true, that I liked him very much, that I hoped to `
` come to like him more, but that I was not in any way what the `
` world calls 'in love' with him. He declared that that satisfied `
` him, and so--we were married." `
` `
` She waited a long time, a little frown had gathered on her `
` forehead. She seemed to be looking back earnestly into those `
` past days. `
` `
` "I think--I am sure--he cared for me at first. But I suppose we `
` were not well matched. Almost at once, we drifted apart. He--it `
` is not a pleasing thing for my pride, but it is the truth--tired `
` of me very soon." I must have made some murmur of dissent, for `
` she went on quickly: "Oh, yes, he did! Not that it matters `
` now--now that we've come to the parting of the ways." `
` `
` "What do you mean?" `
` `
` She answered quietly: `
` `
` "I mean that I am not going to remain at Styles." `
` `
` "You and John are not going to live here?" `
` `
` "John may live here, but I shall not." `
` `
` "You are going to leave him?" `
` `
` "Yes." `
` `
`
` attracting Poirot's attention. At the top, it bore the printed `
` stamp of Messrs. Parkson's, the well-known theatrical `
` costumiers, and it was addressed to "--(the debatable initial) `
` Cavendish, Esq., Styles Court, Styles St. Mary, Essex." `
` `
` "It might be T., or it might be L.," I said, after studying the `
` thing for a minute or two. "It certainly isn't a J." `
` `
` "Good," replied Poirot, folding up the paper again. "I, also, am `
` of your way of thinking. It is an L., depend upon it!" `
` `
` "Where did it come from?" I asked curiously. "Is it important?" `
` `
` "Moderately so. It confirms a surmise of mine. Having deduced `
` its existence, I set Miss Howard to search for it, and, as you `
` see, she has been successful." `
` `
` "What did she mean by 'On the top of the wardrobe'?" `
` `
` "She meant," replied Poirot promptly, "that she found it on top `
` of a wardrobe." `
` `
` "A funny place for a piece of brown paper," I mused. `
` `
` "Not at all. The top of a wardrobe is an excellent place for `
` brown paper and cardboard boxes. I have kept them there myself. `
` Neatly arranged, there is nothing to offend the eye." `
` `
` "Poirot," I asked earnestly, "have you made up your mind about `
` this crime?" `
` `
` "Yes--that is to say, I believe I know how it was committed." `
` `
` "Ah!" `
` `
` "Unfortunately, I have no proof beyond my surmise, unless----" `
` With sudden energy, he caught me by the arm, and whirled me down `
` the hall, calling out in French in his excitement: "Mademoiselle `
` Dorcas, Mademoiselle Dorcas, un moment, s'il vous plait!" `
` `
` Dorcas, quite flurried by the noise, came hurrying out of the `
` pantry. `
` `
` "My good Dorcas, I have an idea--a little idea--if it should `
` prove justified, what magnificent chance! Tell me, on Monday, not `
` Tuesday, Dorcas, but Monday, the day before the tragedy, did `
` anything go wrong with Mrs. Inglethorp's bell?" `
` `
` Dorcas looked very surprised. `
` `
` "Yes, sir, now you mention it, it did; though I don't know how `
` you came to hear of it. A mouse, or some such, must have nibbled `
` the wire through. The man came and put it right on Tuesday `
` morning." `
` `
` With a long drawn exclamation of ecstasy, Poirot led the way back `
` to the morning-room. `
` `
` "See you, one should not ask for outside proof--no, reason should `
` be enough. But the flesh is weak, it is consolation to find that `
` one is on the right track. Ah, my friend, I am like a giant `
` refreshed. I run! I leap!" `
` `
` And, in very truth, run and leap he did, gambolling wildly down `
` the stretch of lawn outside the long window. `
` `
` "What is your remarkable little friend doing?" asked a voice `
` behind me, and I turned to find Mary Cavendish at my elbow. She `
` smiled, and so did I. "What is it all about?" `
` `
` "Really, I can't tell you. He asked Dorcas some question about a `
` bell, and appeared so delighted with her answer that he is `
` capering about as you see!" `
` `
` Mary laughed. `
` `
` "How ridiculous! He's going out of the gate. Isn't he coming `
` back to-day?" `
` `
` "I don't know. I've given up trying to guess what he'll do `
` next." `
` `
` "Is he quite mad, Mr. Hastings?" `
` `
` "I honestly don't know. Sometimes, I feel sure he is as mad as a `
` hatter; and then, just as he is at his maddest, I find there is `
` method in his madness." `
` `
` "I see." `
` `
` In spite of her laugh, Mary was looking thoughtful this morning. `
` She seemed grave, almost sad. `
` `
` It occurred to me that it would be a good opportunity to tackle `
` her on the subject of Cynthia. I began rather tactfully, I `
` thought, but I had not gone far before she stopped me `
` authoritatively. `
` `
` "You are an excellent advocate, I have no doubt, Mr. Hastings, `
` but in this case your talents are quite thrown away. Cynthia `
` will run no risk of encountering any unkindness from me." `
` `
` I began to stammer feebly that I hoped she hadn't thought--But `
` again she stopped me, and her words were so unexpected that they `
` quite drove Cynthia, and her troubles, out of my mind. `
` `
` "Mr. Hastings," she said, "do you think I and my husband are `
` happy together?" `
` `
` I was considerably taken aback, and murmured something about it's `
` not being my business to think anything of the sort. `
` `
` "Well," she said quietly, "whether it is your business or not, I `
` will tell you that we are _not_ happy." `
` `
` I said nothing, for I saw that she had not finished. `
` `
` She began slowly, walking up and down the room, her head a little `
` bent, and that slim, supple figure of hers swaying gently as she `
` walked. She stopped suddenly, and looked up at me. `
` `
` "You don't know anything about me, do you?" she asked. "Where I `
` come from, who I was before I married John--anything, in fact? `
` Well, I will tell you. I will make a father confessor of you. `
` You are kind, I think--yes, I am sure you are kind." `
` `
` Somehow, I was not quite as elated as I might have been. I `
` remembered that Cynthia had begun her confidences in much the `
` same way. Besides, a father confessor should be elderly, it is `
` not at all the role for a young man. `
` `
` "My father was English," said Mrs. Cavendish, "but my mother was `
` a Russian." `
` `
` "Ah," I said, "now I understand--" `
` `
` "Understand what?" `
` `
` "A hint of something foreign--different--that there has always `
` been about you." `
` `
` "My mother was very beautiful, I believe. I don't know, because `
` I never saw her. She died when I was quite a little child. I `
` believe there was some tragedy connected with her death--she took `
` an overdose of some sleeping draught by mistake. However that `
` may be, my father was broken-hearted. Shortly afterwards, he `
` went into the Consular Service. Everywhere he went, I went with `
` him. When I was twenty-three, I had been nearly all over the `
` world. It was a splendid life--I loved it." `
` `
` There was a smile on her face, and her head was thrown back. She `
` seemed living in the memory of those old glad days. `
` `
` "Then my father died. He left me very badly off. I had to go `
` and live with some old aunts in Yorkshire." She shuddered. "You `
` will understand me when I say that it was a deadly life for a `
` girl brought up as I had been. The narrowness, the deadly `
` monotony of it, almost drove me mad." She paused a minute, and `
` added in a different tone: "And then I met John Cavendish." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "You can imagine that, from my aunts' point of view, it was a `
` very good match for me. But I can honestly say it was not this `
` fact which weighed with me. No, he was simply a way of escape `
` from the insufferable monotony of my life." `
` `
` I said nothing, and after a moment, she went on: `
` `
` "Don't misunderstand me. I was quite honest with him. I told `
` him, what was true, that I liked him very much, that I hoped to `
` come to like him more, but that I was not in any way what the `
` world calls 'in love' with him. He declared that that satisfied `
` him, and so--we were married." `
` `
` She waited a long time, a little frown had gathered on her `
` forehead. She seemed to be looking back earnestly into those `
` past days. `
` `
` "I think--I am sure--he cared for me at first. But I suppose we `
` were not well matched. Almost at once, we drifted apart. He--it `
` is not a pleasing thing for my pride, but it is the truth--tired `
` of me very soon." I must have made some murmur of dissent, for `
` she went on quickly: "Oh, yes, he did! Not that it matters `
` now--now that we've come to the parting of the ways." `
` `
` "What do you mean?" `
` `
` She answered quietly: `
` `
` "I mean that I am not going to remain at Styles." `
` `
` "You and John are not going to live here?" `
` `
` "John may live here, but I shall not." `
` `
` "You are going to leave him?" `
` `
` "Yes." `
` `
`