Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Ch.I-VI
cautious speech. `
` `
` "Manning," said John, "this gentleman will put some questions to `
` you which I want you to answer." `
` `
` "Yes sir," mumbled Manning. `
` `
` Poirot stepped forward briskly. Manning's eye swept over him `
` with a faint contempt. `
` `
` "You were planting a bed of begonias round by the south side of `
` the house yesterday afternoon, were you not, Manning?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, me and Willum." `
` `
` "And Mrs. Inglethorp came to the window and called you, did she `
` not?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, she did." `
` `
` "Tell me in your own words exactly what happened after that." `
` `
` "Well, sir, nothing much. She just told Willum to go on his `
` bicycle down to the village, and bring back a form of will, or `
` such-like--I don't know what exactly--she wrote it down for him." `
` `
` "Well?" `
` `
` "Well, he did, sir." `
` `
` "And what happened next?" `
` `
` "We went on with the begonias, sir." `
` `
` "Did not Mrs. Inglethorp call you again?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, both me and Willum, she called." `
` `
` "And then?" `
` `
` "She made us come right in, and sign our names at the bottom of a `
` long paper--under where she'd signed." `
` `
` "Did you see anything of what was written above her signature?" `
` asked Poirot sharply. `
` `
` "No, sir, there was a bit of blotting paper over that part." `
` `
` "And you signed where she told you?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, first me and then Willum." `
` `
` "What did she do with it afterwards?" `
` `
` "Well, sir, she slipped it into a long envelope, and put it `
` inside a sort of purple box that was standing on the desk." `
` `
` "What time was it when she first called you?" `
` `
` "About four, I should say, sir." `
` `
` "Not earlier? Couldn't it have been about half-past three?" `
` `
` "No, I shouldn't say so, sir. It would be more likely to be a `
` bit after four--not before it." `
` `
` "Thank you, Manning, that will do," said Poirot pleasantly. `
` `
` The gardener glanced at his master, who nodded, whereupon Manning `
` lifted a finger to his forehead with a low mumble, and backed `
` cautiously out of the window. `
` `
` We all looked at each other. `
` `
` "Good heavens!" murmured John. "What an extraordinary `
` coincidence." `
` `
` "How--a coincidence?" `
` `
` "That my mother should have made a will on the very day of her `
` death!" `
` `
` Mr. Wells cleared his throat and remarked drily: `
` `
` "Are you so sure it is a coincidence, Cavendish?" `
` `
` "What do you mean?" `
` `
` "Your mother, you tell me, had a violent quarrel with--some one `
` yesterday afternoon----" `
` `
` "What do you mean?" cried John again. There was a tremor in his `
` voice, and he had gone very pale. `
` `
` "In consequence of that quarrel, your mother very suddenly and `
` hurriedly makes a new will. The contents of that will we shall `
` never know. She told no one of its provisions. This morning, no `
` doubt, she would have consulted me on the subject--but she had no `
` chance. The will disappears, and she takes its secret with her `
` to her grave. Cavendish, I much fear there is no coincidence `
` there. Monsieur Poirot, I am sure you agree with me that the `
` facts are very suggestive." `
` `
` "Suggestive, or not," interrupted John, "we are most grateful to `
` Monsieur Poirot for elucidating the matter. But for him, we `
` should never have known of this will. I suppose, I may not ask `
` you, monsieur, what first led you to suspect the fact?" `
` `
` Poirot smiled and answered: `
` `
` "A scribbled over old envelope, and a freshly planted bed of `
` begonias." `
` `
` John, I think, would have pressed his questions further, but at `
` that moment the loud purr of a motor was audible, and we all `
` turned to the window as it swept past. `
` `
` "Evie!" cried John. "Excuse me, Wells." He went hurriedly out `
` into the hall. `
` `
` Poirot looked inquiringly at me. `
` `
` "Miss Howard," I explained. `
` `
` "Ah, I am glad she has come. There is a woman with a head and a `
` heart too, Hastings. Though the good God gave her no beauty!" `
` `
` I followed John's example, and went out into the hall, where Miss `
` Howard was endeavouring to extricate herself from the voluminous `
` mass of veils that enveloped her head. As her eyes fell on me, a `
` sudden pang of guilt shot through me. This was the woman who had `
` warned me so earnestly, and to whose warning I had, alas, paid no `
` heed! How soon, and how contemptuously, I had dismissed it from `
` my mind. Now that she had been proved justified in so tragic a `
` manner, I felt ashamed. She had known Alfred Inglethorp only too `
` well. I wondered whether, if she had remained at Styles, the `
` tragedy would have taken place, or would the man have feared her `
` watchful eyes? `
` `
` I was relieved when she shook me by the hand, with her well `
` remembered painful grip. The eyes that met mine were sad, but `
` not reproachful; that she had been crying bitterly, I could tell `
` by the redness of her eyelids, but her manner was unchanged from `
` its old gruffness. `
` `
` "Started the moment I got the wire. Just come off night duty. `
` Hired car. Quickest way to get here." `
` `
` "Have you had anything to eat this morning, Evie?" asked John. `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` "I thought not. Come along, breakfast's not cleared away yet, `
` and they'll make you some fresh tea." He turned to me. "Look `
` after her, Hastings, will you? Wells is waiting for me. Oh, `
` here's Monsieur Poirot. He's helping us, you know, Evie." `
` `
` Miss Howard shook hands with Poirot, but glanced suspiciously `
` over her shoulder at John. `
` `
` "What do you mean--helping us?" `
` `
` "Helping us to investigate." `
` `
` "Nothing to investigate. Have they taken him to prison yet?" `
` `
` "Taken who to prison?" `
` `
` "Who? Alfred Inglethorp, of course!" `
` `
` "My dear Evie, do be careful. Lawrence is of the opinion that my `
` mother died from heart seizure." `
` `
` "More fool, Lawrence!" retorted Miss Howard. "Of course Alfred `
` Inglethorp murdered poor Emily--as I always told you he would." `
` `
` "My dear Evie, don't shout so. Whatever we may think or suspect, `
` it is better to say as little as possible for the present. The `
` inquest isn't until Friday." `
` `
` "Not until fiddlesticks!" The snort Miss Howard gave was truly `
` magnificent. "You're all off your heads. The man will be out of `
` the country by then. If he's any sense, he won't stay here `
` tamely and wait to be hanged." `
` `
` John Cavendish looked at her helplessly. `
` `
` "I know what it is," she accused him, "you've been listening to `
` the doctors. Never should. What do they know? Nothing at `
` all--or just enough to make them dangerous. I ought to know--my `
` own father was a doctor. That little Wilkins is about the `
` greatest fool that even I have ever seen. Heart seizure! Sort of `
` thing he would say. Anyone with any sense could see at once that `
` her husband had poisoned her. I always said he'd murder her in `
` her bed, poor soul. Now he's done it. And all you can do is to `
` murmur silly things about 'heart seizure' and 'inquest on `
` Friday.' You ought to be ashamed of yourself, John Cavendish." `
` `
` "What do you want me to do?" asked John, unable to help a faint `
` smile. "Dash it all, Evie, I can't haul him down to the local `
` police station by the scruff of his neck." `
`
` `
` "Manning," said John, "this gentleman will put some questions to `
` you which I want you to answer." `
` `
` "Yes sir," mumbled Manning. `
` `
` Poirot stepped forward briskly. Manning's eye swept over him `
` with a faint contempt. `
` `
` "You were planting a bed of begonias round by the south side of `
` the house yesterday afternoon, were you not, Manning?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, me and Willum." `
` `
` "And Mrs. Inglethorp came to the window and called you, did she `
` not?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, she did." `
` `
` "Tell me in your own words exactly what happened after that." `
` `
` "Well, sir, nothing much. She just told Willum to go on his `
` bicycle down to the village, and bring back a form of will, or `
` such-like--I don't know what exactly--she wrote it down for him." `
` `
` "Well?" `
` `
` "Well, he did, sir." `
` `
` "And what happened next?" `
` `
` "We went on with the begonias, sir." `
` `
` "Did not Mrs. Inglethorp call you again?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, both me and Willum, she called." `
` `
` "And then?" `
` `
` "She made us come right in, and sign our names at the bottom of a `
` long paper--under where she'd signed." `
` `
` "Did you see anything of what was written above her signature?" `
` asked Poirot sharply. `
` `
` "No, sir, there was a bit of blotting paper over that part." `
` `
` "And you signed where she told you?" `
` `
` "Yes, sir, first me and then Willum." `
` `
` "What did she do with it afterwards?" `
` `
` "Well, sir, she slipped it into a long envelope, and put it `
` inside a sort of purple box that was standing on the desk." `
` `
` "What time was it when she first called you?" `
` `
` "About four, I should say, sir." `
` `
` "Not earlier? Couldn't it have been about half-past three?" `
` `
` "No, I shouldn't say so, sir. It would be more likely to be a `
` bit after four--not before it." `
` `
` "Thank you, Manning, that will do," said Poirot pleasantly. `
` `
` The gardener glanced at his master, who nodded, whereupon Manning `
` lifted a finger to his forehead with a low mumble, and backed `
` cautiously out of the window. `
` `
` We all looked at each other. `
` `
` "Good heavens!" murmured John. "What an extraordinary `
` coincidence." `
` `
` "How--a coincidence?" `
` `
` "That my mother should have made a will on the very day of her `
` death!" `
` `
` Mr. Wells cleared his throat and remarked drily: `
` `
` "Are you so sure it is a coincidence, Cavendish?" `
` `
` "What do you mean?" `
` `
` "Your mother, you tell me, had a violent quarrel with--some one `
` yesterday afternoon----" `
` `
` "What do you mean?" cried John again. There was a tremor in his `
` voice, and he had gone very pale. `
` `
` "In consequence of that quarrel, your mother very suddenly and `
` hurriedly makes a new will. The contents of that will we shall `
` never know. She told no one of its provisions. This morning, no `
` doubt, she would have consulted me on the subject--but she had no `
` chance. The will disappears, and she takes its secret with her `
` to her grave. Cavendish, I much fear there is no coincidence `
` there. Monsieur Poirot, I am sure you agree with me that the `
` facts are very suggestive." `
` `
` "Suggestive, or not," interrupted John, "we are most grateful to `
` Monsieur Poirot for elucidating the matter. But for him, we `
` should never have known of this will. I suppose, I may not ask `
` you, monsieur, what first led you to suspect the fact?" `
` `
` Poirot smiled and answered: `
` `
` "A scribbled over old envelope, and a freshly planted bed of `
` begonias." `
` `
` John, I think, would have pressed his questions further, but at `
` that moment the loud purr of a motor was audible, and we all `
` turned to the window as it swept past. `
` `
` "Evie!" cried John. "Excuse me, Wells." He went hurriedly out `
` into the hall. `
` `
` Poirot looked inquiringly at me. `
` `
` "Miss Howard," I explained. `
` `
` "Ah, I am glad she has come. There is a woman with a head and a `
` heart too, Hastings. Though the good God gave her no beauty!" `
` `
` I followed John's example, and went out into the hall, where Miss `
` Howard was endeavouring to extricate herself from the voluminous `
` mass of veils that enveloped her head. As her eyes fell on me, a `
` sudden pang of guilt shot through me. This was the woman who had `
` warned me so earnestly, and to whose warning I had, alas, paid no `
` heed! How soon, and how contemptuously, I had dismissed it from `
` my mind. Now that she had been proved justified in so tragic a `
` manner, I felt ashamed. She had known Alfred Inglethorp only too `
` well. I wondered whether, if she had remained at Styles, the `
` tragedy would have taken place, or would the man have feared her `
` watchful eyes? `
` `
` I was relieved when she shook me by the hand, with her well `
` remembered painful grip. The eyes that met mine were sad, but `
` not reproachful; that she had been crying bitterly, I could tell `
` by the redness of her eyelids, but her manner was unchanged from `
` its old gruffness. `
` `
` "Started the moment I got the wire. Just come off night duty. `
` Hired car. Quickest way to get here." `
` `
` "Have you had anything to eat this morning, Evie?" asked John. `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` "I thought not. Come along, breakfast's not cleared away yet, `
` and they'll make you some fresh tea." He turned to me. "Look `
` after her, Hastings, will you? Wells is waiting for me. Oh, `
` here's Monsieur Poirot. He's helping us, you know, Evie." `
` `
` Miss Howard shook hands with Poirot, but glanced suspiciously `
` over her shoulder at John. `
` `
` "What do you mean--helping us?" `
` `
` "Helping us to investigate." `
` `
` "Nothing to investigate. Have they taken him to prison yet?" `
` `
` "Taken who to prison?" `
` `
` "Who? Alfred Inglethorp, of course!" `
` `
` "My dear Evie, do be careful. Lawrence is of the opinion that my `
` mother died from heart seizure." `
` `
` "More fool, Lawrence!" retorted Miss Howard. "Of course Alfred `
` Inglethorp murdered poor Emily--as I always told you he would." `
` `
` "My dear Evie, don't shout so. Whatever we may think or suspect, `
` it is better to say as little as possible for the present. The `
` inquest isn't until Friday." `
` `
` "Not until fiddlesticks!" The snort Miss Howard gave was truly `
` magnificent. "You're all off your heads. The man will be out of `
` the country by then. If he's any sense, he won't stay here `
` tamely and wait to be hanged." `
` `
` John Cavendish looked at her helplessly. `
` `
` "I know what it is," she accused him, "you've been listening to `
` the doctors. Never should. What do they know? Nothing at `
` all--or just enough to make them dangerous. I ought to know--my `
` own father was a doctor. That little Wilkins is about the `
` greatest fool that even I have ever seen. Heart seizure! Sort of `
` thing he would say. Anyone with any sense could see at once that `
` her husband had poisoned her. I always said he'd murder her in `
` her bed, poor soul. Now he's done it. And all you can do is to `
` murmur silly things about 'heart seizure' and 'inquest on `
` Friday.' You ought to be ashamed of yourself, John Cavendish." `
` `
` "What do you want me to do?" asked John, unable to help a faint `
` smile. "Dash it all, Evie, I can't haul him down to the local `
` police station by the scruff of his neck." `
`