Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles Ch.VII-XIII
`
` "But why?" `
` `
` She paused a long time, and said at last: `
` `
` "Perhaps--because I want to be--free!" `
` `
` And, as she spoke, I had a sudden vision of broad spaces, virgin `
` tracts of forests, untrodden lands--and a realization of what `
` freedom would mean to such a nature as Mary Cavendish. I seemed `
` to see her for a moment as she was, a proud wild creature, as `
` untamed by civilization as some shy bird of the hills. A little `
` cry broke from her lips: `
` `
` "You don't know, you don't know, how this hateful place has been `
` prison to me!" `
` `
` "I understand," I said, "but--but don't do anything rash." `
` `
` "Oh, rash!" Her voice mocked at my prudence. `
` `
` Then suddenly I said a thing I could have bitten out my tongue `
` for: `
` `
` "You know that Dr. Bauerstein has been arrested?" `
` `
` An instant coldness passed like a mask over her face, blotting `
` out all expression. `
` `
` "John was so kind as to break that to me this morning." `
` `
` "Well, what do you think?" I asked feebly. `
` `
` "Of what?" `
` `
` "Of the arrest?" `
` `
` "What should I think? Apparently he is a German spy; so the `
` gardener had told John." `
` `
` Her face and voice were absolutely cold and expressionless. Did `
` she care, or did she not? `
` `
` She moved away a step or two, and fingered one of the flower `
` vases. `
` `
` "These are quite dead. I must do them again. Would you mind `
` moving--thank you, Mr. Hastings." And she walked quietly past me `
` out of the window, with a cool little nod of dismissal. `
` `
` No, surely she could not care for Bauerstein. No woman could act `
` her part with that icy unconcern. `
` `
` Poirot did not make his appearance the following morning, and `
` there was no sign of the Scotland Yard men. `
` `
` But, at lunch-time, there arrived a new piece of evidence--or `
` rather lack of evidence. We had vainly tried to trace the fourth `
` letter, which Mrs. Inglethorp had written on the evening `
` preceding her death. Our efforts having been in vain, we had `
` abandoned the matter, hoping that it might turn up of itself one `
` day. And this is just what did happen, in the shape of a `
` communication, which arrived by the second post from a firm of `
` French music publishers, acknowledging Mrs. Inglethorp's cheque, `
` and regretting they had been unable to trace a certain series of `
` Russian folksongs. So the last hope of solving the mystery, by `
` means of Mrs. Inglethorp's correspondence on the fatal evening, `
` had to be abandoned. `
` `
` Just before tea, I strolled down to tell Poirot of the new `
` disappointment, but found, to my annoyance, that he was once more `
` out. `
` `
` "Gone to London again?" `
` `
` "Oh, no, monsieur, he has but taken the train to Tadminster. 'To `
` see a young lady's dispensary,' he said." `
` `
` "Silly ass!" I ejaculated. "I told him Wednesday was the one day `
` she wasn't there! Well, tell him to look us up to-morrow morning, `
` will you?" `
` `
` "Certainly, monsieur." `
` `
` But, on the following day, no sign of Poirot. I was getting `
` angry. He was really treating us in the most cavalier fashion. `
` `
` After lunch, Lawrence drew me aside, and asked if I was going `
` down to see him. `
` `
` "No, I don't think I shall. He can come up here if he wants to `
` see us." `
` `
` "Oh!" Lawrence looked indeterminate. Something unusually nervous `
` and excited in his manner roused my curiosity. `
` `
` "What is it?" I asked. "I could go if there's anything special." `
` `
` "It's nothing much, but--well, if you are going, will you tell `
` him--" he dropped his voice to a whisper--"I think I've found the `
` extra coffee-cup!" `
` `
` I had almost forgotten that enigmatical message of Poirot's, but `
` now my curiosity was aroused afresh. `
` `
` Lawrence would say no more, so I decided that I would descend `
` from my high horse, and once more seek out Poirot at Leastways `
` Cottage. `
` `
` This time I was received with a smile. Monsieur Poirot was `
` within. Would I mount? I mounted accordingly. `
` `
` Poirot was sitting by the table, his head buried in his hands. `
` He sprang up at my entrance. `
` `
` "What is it?" I asked solicitously. "You are not ill, I trust?" `
` `
` "No, no, not ill. But I decide an affair of great moment." `
` `
` "Whether to catch the criminal or not?" I asked facetiously. `
` `
` But, to my great surprise, Poirot nodded gravely. `
` `
` " 'To speak or not to speak,' as your so great Shakespeare says, `
` 'that is the question.' " `
` `
` I did not trouble to correct the quotation. `
` `
` "You are not serious, Poirot?" `
` `
` "I am of the most serious. For the most serious of all things `
` hangs in the balance." `
` `
` "And that is?" `
` `
` "A woman's happiness, mon ami," he said gravely. `
` `
` I did not quite know what to say. `
` `
` "The moment has come," said Poirot thoughtfully, "and I do not `
` know what to do. For, see you, it is a big stake for which I `
` play. No one but I, Hercule Poirot, would attempt it!" And he `
` tapped himself proudly on the breast. `
` `
` After pausing a few minutes respectfully, so as not to spoil his `
` effect, I gave him Lawrence's message. `
` `
` "Aha!" he cried. "So he has found the extra coffee-cup. That is `
` good. He has more intelligence than would appear, this `
` long-faced Monsieur Lawrence of yours!" `
` `
` I did not myself think very highly of Lawrence's intelligence; `
` but I forebore to contradict Poirot, and gently took him to task `
` for forgetting my instructions as to which were Cynthia's days `
` off. `
` `
` "It is true. I have the head of a sieve. However, the other `
` young lady was most kind. She was sorry for my disappointment, `
` and showed me everything in the kindest way." `
` `
` "Oh, well, that's all right, then, and you must go to tea with `
` Cynthia another day." `
` `
` I told him about the letter. `
` `
` "I am sorry for that," he said. "I always had hopes of that `
` letter. But no, it was not to be. This affair must all be `
` unravelled from within." He tapped his forehead. "These little `
` grey cells. It is 'up to them'--as you say over here." Then, `
` suddenly, he asked: "Are you a judge of finger-marks, my friend?" `
` `
` "No," I said, rather surprised, "I know that there are no two `
` finger-marks alike, but that's as far as my science goes." `
` `
` "Exactly." `
` `
` He unlocked a little drawer, and took out some photographs which `
` he laid on the table. `
` `
` "I have numbered them, 1, 2, 3. Will you describe them to me?" `
` `
` I studied the proofs attentively. `
` `
` "All greatly magnified, I see. No. 1, I should say, are a man's `
` finger-prints; thumb and first finger. No. 2 are a lady's; they `
` are much smaller, and quite different in every way. No. 3"--I `
` paused for some time--"there seem to be a lot of confused `
` finger-marks, but here, very distinctly, are No. 1's." `
` `
` "Overlapping the others?" `
` `
` "Yes." `
` `
` "You recognize them beyond fail?" `
` `
` "Oh, yes; they are identical." `
` `
` Poirot nodded, and gently taking the photographs from me locked `
` them up again. `
` `
` "I suppose," I said, "that as usual, you are not going to `
`
` "But why?" `
` `
` She paused a long time, and said at last: `
` `
` "Perhaps--because I want to be--free!" `
` `
` And, as she spoke, I had a sudden vision of broad spaces, virgin `
` tracts of forests, untrodden lands--and a realization of what `
` freedom would mean to such a nature as Mary Cavendish. I seemed `
` to see her for a moment as she was, a proud wild creature, as `
` untamed by civilization as some shy bird of the hills. A little `
` cry broke from her lips: `
` `
` "You don't know, you don't know, how this hateful place has been `
` prison to me!" `
` `
` "I understand," I said, "but--but don't do anything rash." `
` `
` "Oh, rash!" Her voice mocked at my prudence. `
` `
` Then suddenly I said a thing I could have bitten out my tongue `
` for: `
` `
` "You know that Dr. Bauerstein has been arrested?" `
` `
` An instant coldness passed like a mask over her face, blotting `
` out all expression. `
` `
` "John was so kind as to break that to me this morning." `
` `
` "Well, what do you think?" I asked feebly. `
` `
` "Of what?" `
` `
` "Of the arrest?" `
` `
` "What should I think? Apparently he is a German spy; so the `
` gardener had told John." `
` `
` Her face and voice were absolutely cold and expressionless. Did `
` she care, or did she not? `
` `
` She moved away a step or two, and fingered one of the flower `
` vases. `
` `
` "These are quite dead. I must do them again. Would you mind `
` moving--thank you, Mr. Hastings." And she walked quietly past me `
` out of the window, with a cool little nod of dismissal. `
` `
` No, surely she could not care for Bauerstein. No woman could act `
` her part with that icy unconcern. `
` `
` Poirot did not make his appearance the following morning, and `
` there was no sign of the Scotland Yard men. `
` `
` But, at lunch-time, there arrived a new piece of evidence--or `
` rather lack of evidence. We had vainly tried to trace the fourth `
` letter, which Mrs. Inglethorp had written on the evening `
` preceding her death. Our efforts having been in vain, we had `
` abandoned the matter, hoping that it might turn up of itself one `
` day. And this is just what did happen, in the shape of a `
` communication, which arrived by the second post from a firm of `
` French music publishers, acknowledging Mrs. Inglethorp's cheque, `
` and regretting they had been unable to trace a certain series of `
` Russian folksongs. So the last hope of solving the mystery, by `
` means of Mrs. Inglethorp's correspondence on the fatal evening, `
` had to be abandoned. `
` `
` Just before tea, I strolled down to tell Poirot of the new `
` disappointment, but found, to my annoyance, that he was once more `
` out. `
` `
` "Gone to London again?" `
` `
` "Oh, no, monsieur, he has but taken the train to Tadminster. 'To `
` see a young lady's dispensary,' he said." `
` `
` "Silly ass!" I ejaculated. "I told him Wednesday was the one day `
` she wasn't there! Well, tell him to look us up to-morrow morning, `
` will you?" `
` `
` "Certainly, monsieur." `
` `
` But, on the following day, no sign of Poirot. I was getting `
` angry. He was really treating us in the most cavalier fashion. `
` `
` After lunch, Lawrence drew me aside, and asked if I was going `
` down to see him. `
` `
` "No, I don't think I shall. He can come up here if he wants to `
` see us." `
` `
` "Oh!" Lawrence looked indeterminate. Something unusually nervous `
` and excited in his manner roused my curiosity. `
` `
` "What is it?" I asked. "I could go if there's anything special." `
` `
` "It's nothing much, but--well, if you are going, will you tell `
` him--" he dropped his voice to a whisper--"I think I've found the `
` extra coffee-cup!" `
` `
` I had almost forgotten that enigmatical message of Poirot's, but `
` now my curiosity was aroused afresh. `
` `
` Lawrence would say no more, so I decided that I would descend `
` from my high horse, and once more seek out Poirot at Leastways `
` Cottage. `
` `
` This time I was received with a smile. Monsieur Poirot was `
` within. Would I mount? I mounted accordingly. `
` `
` Poirot was sitting by the table, his head buried in his hands. `
` He sprang up at my entrance. `
` `
` "What is it?" I asked solicitously. "You are not ill, I trust?" `
` `
` "No, no, not ill. But I decide an affair of great moment." `
` `
` "Whether to catch the criminal or not?" I asked facetiously. `
` `
` But, to my great surprise, Poirot nodded gravely. `
` `
` " 'To speak or not to speak,' as your so great Shakespeare says, `
` 'that is the question.' " `
` `
` I did not trouble to correct the quotation. `
` `
` "You are not serious, Poirot?" `
` `
` "I am of the most serious. For the most serious of all things `
` hangs in the balance." `
` `
` "And that is?" `
` `
` "A woman's happiness, mon ami," he said gravely. `
` `
` I did not quite know what to say. `
` `
` "The moment has come," said Poirot thoughtfully, "and I do not `
` know what to do. For, see you, it is a big stake for which I `
` play. No one but I, Hercule Poirot, would attempt it!" And he `
` tapped himself proudly on the breast. `
` `
` After pausing a few minutes respectfully, so as not to spoil his `
` effect, I gave him Lawrence's message. `
` `
` "Aha!" he cried. "So he has found the extra coffee-cup. That is `
` good. He has more intelligence than would appear, this `
` long-faced Monsieur Lawrence of yours!" `
` `
` I did not myself think very highly of Lawrence's intelligence; `
` but I forebore to contradict Poirot, and gently took him to task `
` for forgetting my instructions as to which were Cynthia's days `
` off. `
` `
` "It is true. I have the head of a sieve. However, the other `
` young lady was most kind. She was sorry for my disappointment, `
` and showed me everything in the kindest way." `
` `
` "Oh, well, that's all right, then, and you must go to tea with `
` Cynthia another day." `
` `
` I told him about the letter. `
` `
` "I am sorry for that," he said. "I always had hopes of that `
` letter. But no, it was not to be. This affair must all be `
` unravelled from within." He tapped his forehead. "These little `
` grey cells. It is 'up to them'--as you say over here." Then, `
` suddenly, he asked: "Are you a judge of finger-marks, my friend?" `
` `
` "No," I said, rather surprised, "I know that there are no two `
` finger-marks alike, but that's as far as my science goes." `
` `
` "Exactly." `
` `
` He unlocked a little drawer, and took out some photographs which `
` he laid on the table. `
` `
` "I have numbered them, 1, 2, 3. Will you describe them to me?" `
` `
` I studied the proofs attentively. `
` `
` "All greatly magnified, I see. No. 1, I should say, are a man's `
` finger-prints; thumb and first finger. No. 2 are a lady's; they `
` are much smaller, and quite different in every way. No. 3"--I `
` paused for some time--"there seem to be a lot of confused `
` finger-marks, but here, very distinctly, are No. 1's." `
` `
` "Overlapping the others?" `
` `
` "Yes." `
` `
` "You recognize them beyond fail?" `
` `
` "Oh, yes; they are identical." `
` `
` Poirot nodded, and gently taking the photographs from me locked `
` them up again. `
` `
` "I suppose," I said, "that as usual, you are not going to `
`