Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles Ch.VII-XIII
"I suppose," I said, "that as usual, you are not going to `
` explain?" `
` `
` "On the contrary. No. 1 were the finger-prints of Monsieur `
` Lawrence. No. 2 were those of Mademoiselle Cynthia. They are `
` not important. I merely obtained them for comparison. No. 3 is `
` a little more complicated." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "It is, as you see, highly magnified. You may have noticed a `
` sort of blur extending all across the picture. I will not `
` describe to you the special apparatus, dusting powder, etc., `
` which I used. It is a well-known process to the police, and by `
` means of it you can obtain a photograph of the finger-prints of `
` any object in a very short space of time. Well, my friend, you `
` have seen the finger-marks--it remains to tell you the particular `
` object on which they had been left." `
` `
` "Go on--I am really excited." `
` `
` "Eh bien! Photo No. 3 represents the highly magnified surface of `
` a tiny bottle in the top poison cupboard of the dispensary in the `
` Red Cross Hospital at Tadminster--which sounds like the house `
` that Jack built!" `
` `
` "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "But what were Lawrence Cavendish's `
` finger-marks doing on it? He never went near the poison cupboard `
` the day we were there!" `
` `
` "Oh, yes, he did!" `
` `
` "Impossible! We were all together the whole time." `
` `
` Poirot shook his head. `
` `
` "No, my friend, there was a moment when you were not all `
` together. There was a moment when you could not have been all `
` together, or it would not have been necessary to call to Monsieur `
` Lawrence to come and join you on the balcony." `
` `
` "I'd forgotten that," I admitted. "But it was only for a `
` moment." `
` `
` "Long enough." `
` `
` "Long enough for what?" `
` `
` Poirot's smile became rather enigmatical. `
` `
` "Long enough for a gentleman who had once studied medicine to `
` gratify a very natural interest and curiosity." `
` `
` Our eyes met. Poirot's were pleasantly vague. He got up and `
` hummed a little tune. I watched him suspiciously. `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "what was in this particular little bottle?" `
` `
` Poirot looked out of the window. `
` `
` "Hydro-chloride of strychnine," he said, over his shoulder, `
` continuing to hum. `
` `
` "Good heavens!" I said it quite quietly. I was not surprised. I `
` had expected that answer. `
` `
` "They use the pure hydro-chloride of strychnine very little-- `
` only occasionally for pills. It is the official solution, Liq. `
` Strychnine Hydro-clor. that is used in most medicines. That is `
` why the finger-marks have remained undisturbed since then." `
` `
` "How did you manage to take this photograph?" `
` `
` "I dropped my hat from the balcony," explained Poirot simply. `
` "Visitors were not permitted below at that hour, so, in spite of `
` my many apologies, Mademoiselle Cynthia's colleague had to go `
` down and fetch it for me." `
` `
` "Then you knew what you were going to find?" `
` `
` "No, not at all. I merely realized that it was possible, from `
` your story, for Monsieur Lawrence to go to the poison cupboard. `
` The possibility had to be confirmed, or eliminated." `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "your gaiety does not deceive me. This is a `
` very important discovery." `
` `
` "I do not know," said Poirot. "But one thing does strike me. No `
` doubt it has struck you too." `
` `
` "What is that?" `
` `
` "Why, that there is altogether too much strychnine about this `
` case. This is the third time we run up against it. There was `
` strychnine in Mrs. Inglethorp's tonic. There is the strychnine `
` sold across the counter at Styles St. Mary by Mace. Now we have `
` more strychnine, handled by one of the household. It is `
` confusing; and, as you know, I do not like confusion." `
` `
` Before I could reply, one of the other Belgians opened the door `
` and stuck his head in. `
` `
` "There is a lady below, asking for Mr Hastings." `
` `
` "A lady?" `
` `
` I jumped up. Poirot followed me down the narrow stairs. Mary `
` Cavendish was standing in the doorway. `
` `
` "I have been visiting an old woman in the village," she `
` explained, "and as Lawrence told me you were with Monsieur Poirot `
` I thought I would call for you." `
` `
` "Alas, madame," said Poirot, "I thought you had come to honour me `
` with a visit!" `
` `
` "I will some day, if you ask me," she promised him, smiling. `
` `
` "That is well. If you should need a father confessor, madame" `
` --she started ever so slightly--"remember, Papa Poirot is always `
` at your service." `
` `
` She stared at him for a few minutes, as though seeking to read `
` some deeper meaning into his words. Then she turned abruptly `
` away. `
` `
` "Come, will you not walk back with us too, Monsieur Poirot?" `
` `
` "Enchanted, madame." `
` `
` All the way to Styles, Mary talked fast and feverishly. It `
` struck me that in some way she was nervous of Poirot's eyes. `
` `
` The weather had broken, and the sharp wind was almost autumnal in `
` its shrewishness. Mary shivered a little, and buttoned her black `
` sports coat closer. The wind through the trees made a mournful `
` noise, like some great giant sighing. `
` `
` We walked up to the great door of Styles, and at once the `
` knowledge came to us that something was wrong. `
` `
` Dorcas came running out to meet us. She was crying and wringing `
` her hands. I was aware of other servants huddled together in the `
` background, all eyes and ears. `
` `
` "Oh, m'am! Oh, m'am! I don't know how to tell you--" `
` `
` "What is it, Dorcas?" I asked impatiently. "Tell us at once." `
` `
` "It's those wicked detectives. They've arrested him--they've `
` arrested Mr. Cavendish!" `
` `
` "Arrested Lawrence?" I gasped. `
` `
` I saw a strange look come into Dorcas's eyes. `
` `
` "No, sir. Not Mr. Lawrence--Mr. John." `
` `
` Behind me, with a wild cry, Mary Cavendish fell heavily against `
` me, and as I turned to catch her I met the quiet triumph in `
` Poirot's eyes. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER XI. `
` `
` THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION `
` `
` `
` The trial of John Cavendish for the murder of his stepmother took `
` place two months later. `
` `
` Of the intervening weeks I will say little, but my admiration and `
` sympathy went out unfeignedly to Mary Cavendish. She ranged `
` herself passionately on her husband's side, scorning the mere `
` idea of his guilt, and fought for him tooth and nail. `
` `
` I expressed my admiration to Poirot, and he nodded thoughtfully. `
` `
` "Yes, she is of those women who show at their best in adversity. `
` It brings out all that is sweetest and truest in them. Her pride `
` and her jealousy have--" `
` `
` "Jealousy?" I queried. `
` `
` "Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually jealous `
` woman? As I was saying, her pride and jealousy have been laid `
` aside. She thinks of nothing but her husband, and the terrible `
` fate that is hanging over him." `
` `
` He spoke very feelingly, and I looked at him earnestly, `
` remembering that last afternoon, when he had been deliberating `
` whether or not to speak. With his tenderness for "a woman's `
` happiness," I felt glad that the decision had been taken out of `
` his hands. `
` `
` "Even now," I said, "I can hardly believe it. You see, up to the `
` very last minute, I thought it was Lawrence!" `
` `
` Poirot grinned. `
` `
`
` explain?" `
` `
` "On the contrary. No. 1 were the finger-prints of Monsieur `
` Lawrence. No. 2 were those of Mademoiselle Cynthia. They are `
` not important. I merely obtained them for comparison. No. 3 is `
` a little more complicated." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "It is, as you see, highly magnified. You may have noticed a `
` sort of blur extending all across the picture. I will not `
` describe to you the special apparatus, dusting powder, etc., `
` which I used. It is a well-known process to the police, and by `
` means of it you can obtain a photograph of the finger-prints of `
` any object in a very short space of time. Well, my friend, you `
` have seen the finger-marks--it remains to tell you the particular `
` object on which they had been left." `
` `
` "Go on--I am really excited." `
` `
` "Eh bien! Photo No. 3 represents the highly magnified surface of `
` a tiny bottle in the top poison cupboard of the dispensary in the `
` Red Cross Hospital at Tadminster--which sounds like the house `
` that Jack built!" `
` `
` "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "But what were Lawrence Cavendish's `
` finger-marks doing on it? He never went near the poison cupboard `
` the day we were there!" `
` `
` "Oh, yes, he did!" `
` `
` "Impossible! We were all together the whole time." `
` `
` Poirot shook his head. `
` `
` "No, my friend, there was a moment when you were not all `
` together. There was a moment when you could not have been all `
` together, or it would not have been necessary to call to Monsieur `
` Lawrence to come and join you on the balcony." `
` `
` "I'd forgotten that," I admitted. "But it was only for a `
` moment." `
` `
` "Long enough." `
` `
` "Long enough for what?" `
` `
` Poirot's smile became rather enigmatical. `
` `
` "Long enough for a gentleman who had once studied medicine to `
` gratify a very natural interest and curiosity." `
` `
` Our eyes met. Poirot's were pleasantly vague. He got up and `
` hummed a little tune. I watched him suspiciously. `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "what was in this particular little bottle?" `
` `
` Poirot looked out of the window. `
` `
` "Hydro-chloride of strychnine," he said, over his shoulder, `
` continuing to hum. `
` `
` "Good heavens!" I said it quite quietly. I was not surprised. I `
` had expected that answer. `
` `
` "They use the pure hydro-chloride of strychnine very little-- `
` only occasionally for pills. It is the official solution, Liq. `
` Strychnine Hydro-clor. that is used in most medicines. That is `
` why the finger-marks have remained undisturbed since then." `
` `
` "How did you manage to take this photograph?" `
` `
` "I dropped my hat from the balcony," explained Poirot simply. `
` "Visitors were not permitted below at that hour, so, in spite of `
` my many apologies, Mademoiselle Cynthia's colleague had to go `
` down and fetch it for me." `
` `
` "Then you knew what you were going to find?" `
` `
` "No, not at all. I merely realized that it was possible, from `
` your story, for Monsieur Lawrence to go to the poison cupboard. `
` The possibility had to be confirmed, or eliminated." `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "your gaiety does not deceive me. This is a `
` very important discovery." `
` `
` "I do not know," said Poirot. "But one thing does strike me. No `
` doubt it has struck you too." `
` `
` "What is that?" `
` `
` "Why, that there is altogether too much strychnine about this `
` case. This is the third time we run up against it. There was `
` strychnine in Mrs. Inglethorp's tonic. There is the strychnine `
` sold across the counter at Styles St. Mary by Mace. Now we have `
` more strychnine, handled by one of the household. It is `
` confusing; and, as you know, I do not like confusion." `
` `
` Before I could reply, one of the other Belgians opened the door `
` and stuck his head in. `
` `
` "There is a lady below, asking for Mr Hastings." `
` `
` "A lady?" `
` `
` I jumped up. Poirot followed me down the narrow stairs. Mary `
` Cavendish was standing in the doorway. `
` `
` "I have been visiting an old woman in the village," she `
` explained, "and as Lawrence told me you were with Monsieur Poirot `
` I thought I would call for you." `
` `
` "Alas, madame," said Poirot, "I thought you had come to honour me `
` with a visit!" `
` `
` "I will some day, if you ask me," she promised him, smiling. `
` `
` "That is well. If you should need a father confessor, madame" `
` --she started ever so slightly--"remember, Papa Poirot is always `
` at your service." `
` `
` She stared at him for a few minutes, as though seeking to read `
` some deeper meaning into his words. Then she turned abruptly `
` away. `
` `
` "Come, will you not walk back with us too, Monsieur Poirot?" `
` `
` "Enchanted, madame." `
` `
` All the way to Styles, Mary talked fast and feverishly. It `
` struck me that in some way she was nervous of Poirot's eyes. `
` `
` The weather had broken, and the sharp wind was almost autumnal in `
` its shrewishness. Mary shivered a little, and buttoned her black `
` sports coat closer. The wind through the trees made a mournful `
` noise, like some great giant sighing. `
` `
` We walked up to the great door of Styles, and at once the `
` knowledge came to us that something was wrong. `
` `
` Dorcas came running out to meet us. She was crying and wringing `
` her hands. I was aware of other servants huddled together in the `
` background, all eyes and ears. `
` `
` "Oh, m'am! Oh, m'am! I don't know how to tell you--" `
` `
` "What is it, Dorcas?" I asked impatiently. "Tell us at once." `
` `
` "It's those wicked detectives. They've arrested him--they've `
` arrested Mr. Cavendish!" `
` `
` "Arrested Lawrence?" I gasped. `
` `
` I saw a strange look come into Dorcas's eyes. `
` `
` "No, sir. Not Mr. Lawrence--Mr. John." `
` `
` Behind me, with a wild cry, Mary Cavendish fell heavily against `
` me, and as I turned to catch her I met the quiet triumph in `
` Poirot's eyes. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER XI. `
` `
` THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION `
` `
` `
` The trial of John Cavendish for the murder of his stepmother took `
` place two months later. `
` `
` Of the intervening weeks I will say little, but my admiration and `
` sympathy went out unfeignedly to Mary Cavendish. She ranged `
` herself passionately on her husband's side, scorning the mere `
` idea of his guilt, and fought for him tooth and nail. `
` `
` I expressed my admiration to Poirot, and he nodded thoughtfully. `
` `
` "Yes, she is of those women who show at their best in adversity. `
` It brings out all that is sweetest and truest in them. Her pride `
` and her jealousy have--" `
` `
` "Jealousy?" I queried. `
` `
` "Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually jealous `
` woman? As I was saying, her pride and jealousy have been laid `
` aside. She thinks of nothing but her husband, and the terrible `
` fate that is hanging over him." `
` `
` He spoke very feelingly, and I looked at him earnestly, `
` remembering that last afternoon, when he had been deliberating `
` whether or not to speak. With his tenderness for "a woman's `
` happiness," I felt glad that the decision had been taken out of `
` his hands. `
` `
` "Even now," I said, "I can hardly believe it. You see, up to the `
` very last minute, I thought it was Lawrence!" `
` `
` Poirot grinned. `
` `
`