Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Ch.I-VI
`
` "You are loyal to your friend. I like you for that." `
` `
` "Aren't you my friend too?" `
` `
` "I am a very bad friend." `
` `
` "Why do you say that?" `
` `
` "Because it is true. I am charming to my friends one day, and `
` forget all about them the next." `
` `
` I don't know what impelled me, but I was nettled, and I said `
` foolishly and not in the best of taste: `
` `
` "Yet you seem to be invariably charming to Dr. Bauerstein!" `
` `
` Instantly I regretted my words. Her face stiffened. I had the `
` impression of a steel curtain coming down and blotting out the `
` real woman. Without a word, she turned and went swiftly up the `
` stairs, whilst I stood like an idiot gaping after her. `
` `
` I was recalled to other matters by a frightful row going on `
` below. I could hear Poirot shouting and expounding. I was vexed `
` to think that my diplomacy had been in vain. The little man `
` appeared to be taking the whole house into his confidence, a `
` proceeding of which I, for one, doubted the wisdom. Once again I `
` could not help regretting that my friend was so prone to lose his `
` head in moments of excitement. I stepped briskly down the `
` stairs. The sight of me calmed Poirot almost immediately. I `
` drew him aside. `
` `
` "My dear fellow," I said, "is this wise? Surely you don't want `
` the whole house to know of this occurrence? You are actually `
` playing into the criminal's hands." `
` `
` "You think so, Hastings?" `
` `
` "I am sure of it." `
` `
` "Well, well, my friend, I will be guided by you." `
` `
` "Good. Although, unfortunately, it is a little too late now." `
` `
` "Sure." `
` `
` He looked so crestfallen and abashed that I felt quite sorry, `
` though I still thought my rebuke a just and wise one. `
` `
` "Well," he said at last, "let us go, mon ami." `
` `
` "You have finished here?" `
` `
` "For the moment, yes. You will walk back with me to the `
` village?" `
` `
` "Willingly." `
` `
` He picked up his little suit-case, and we went out through the `
` open window in the drawing-room. Cynthia Murdoch was just coming `
` in, and Poirot stood aside to let her pass. `
` `
` "Excuse me, mademoiselle, one minute." `
` `
` "Yes?" she turned inquiringly. `
` `
` "Did you ever make up Mrs. Inglethorp's medicines?" `
` `
` A slight flush rose in her face, as she answered rather `
` constrainedly: `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` "Only her powders?" `
` `
` The flush deepened as Cynthia replied: `
` `
` "Oh, yes, I did make up some sleeping powders for her once." `
` `
` "These?" `
` `
` Poirot produced the empty box which had contained powders. `
` `
` She nodded. `
` `
` "Can you tell me what they were? Sulphonal? Veronal?" `
` `
` "No, they were bromide powders." `
` `
` "Ah! Thank you, mademoiselle; good morning." `
` `
` As we walked briskly away from the house, I glanced at him more `
` than once. I had often before noticed that, if anything excited `
` him, his eyes turned green like a cat's. They were shining like `
` emeralds now. `
` `
` "My friend," he broke out at last, "I have a little idea, a very `
` strange, and probably utterly impossible idea. And yet--it fits `
` in." `
` `
` I shrugged my shoulders. I privately thought that Poirot was `
` rather too much given to these fantastic ideas. In this case, `
` surely, the truth was only too plain and apparent. `
` `
` "So that is the explanation of the blank label on the box," I `
` remarked. "Very simple, as you said. I really wonder that I did `
` not think of it myself." `
` `
` Poirot did not appear to be listening to me. `
` `
` "They have made one more discovery, la-bas," he observed, jerking `
` his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Styles. "Mr. `
` Wells told me as we were going upstairs." `
` `
` "What was it?" `
` `
` "Locked up in the desk in the boudoir, they found a will of Mrs. `
` Inglethorp's, dated before her marriage, leaving her fortune to `
` Alfred Inglethorp. It must have been made just at the time they `
` were engaged. It came quite as a surprise to Wells--and to John `
` Cavendish also. It was written on one of those printed will `
` forms, and witnessed by two of the servants--not Dorcas." `
` `
` "Did Mr. Inglethorp know of it?" `
` `
` "He says not." `
` `
` "One might take that with a grain of salt," I remarked `
` sceptically. "All these wills are very confusing. Tell me, how `
` did those scribbled words on the envelope help you to discover `
` that a will was made yesterday afternoon?" `
` `
` Poirot smiled. `
` `
` "Mon ami, have you ever, when writing a letter, been arrested by `
` the fact that you did not know how to spell a certain word?" `
` `
` "Yes, often. I suppose every one has." `
` `
` "Exactly. And have you not, in such a case, tried the word once `
` or twice on the edge of the blotting-paper, or a spare scrap of `
` paper, to see if it looked right? Well, that is what Mrs. `
` Inglethorp did. You will notice that the word 'possessed' is `
` spelt first with one 's' and subsequently with two--correctly. To `
` make sure, she had further tried it in a sentence, thus: 'I am `
` possessed.' Now, what did that tell me? It told me that Mrs. `
` Inglethorp had been writing the word 'possessed' that afternoon, `
` and, having the fragment of paper found in the grate fresh in my `
` mind, the possibility of a will--(a document almost certain to `
` contain that word)--occurred to me at once. This possibility was `
` confirmed by a further circumstance. In the general confusion, `
` the boudoir had not been swept that morning, and near the desk `
` were several traces of brown mould and earth. The weather had `
` been perfectly fine for some days, and no ordinary boots would `
` have left such a heavy deposit. `
` `
` "I strolled to the window, and saw at once that the begonia beds `
` had been newly planted. The mould in the beds was exactly `
` similar to that on the floor of the boudoir, and also I learnt `
` from you that they had been planted yesterday afternoon. I was `
` now sure that one, or possibly both of the gardeners--for there `
` were two sets of footprints in the bed--had entered the boudoir, `
` for if Mrs. Inglethorp had merely wished to speak to them she `
` would in all probability have stood at the window, and they would `
` not have come into the room at all. I was now quite convinced `
` that she had made a fresh will, and had called the two gardeners `
` in to witness her signature. Events proved that I was right in `
` my supposition." `
` `
` "That was very ingenious," I could not help admitting. "I must `
` confess that the conclusions I drew from those few scribbled `
` words were quite erroneous." `
` `
` He smiled. `
` `
` "You gave too much rein to your imagination. Imagination is a `
` good servant, and a bad master. The simplest explanation is `
` always the most likely." `
` `
` "Another point--how did you know that the key of the `
` despatch-case had been lost?" `
` `
` "I did not know it. It was a guess that turned out to be `
` correct. You observed that it had a piece of twisted wire `
` through the handle. That suggested to me at once that it had `
` possibly been wrenched off a flimsy key-ring. Now, if it had `
` been lost and recovered, Mrs. Inglethorp would at once have `
` replaced it on her bunch; but on her bunch I found what was `
` obviously the duplicate key, very new and bright, which led me to `
` the hypothesis that somebody else had inserted the original key `
` in the lock of the despatch-case." `
` `
` "Yes," I said, "Alfred Inglethorp, without doubt." `
` `
` Poirot looked at me curiously. `
` `
` "You are very sure of his guilt?" `
` `
` "Well, naturally. Every fresh circumstance seems to establish it `
` more clearly." `
` `
`
` "You are loyal to your friend. I like you for that." `
` `
` "Aren't you my friend too?" `
` `
` "I am a very bad friend." `
` `
` "Why do you say that?" `
` `
` "Because it is true. I am charming to my friends one day, and `
` forget all about them the next." `
` `
` I don't know what impelled me, but I was nettled, and I said `
` foolishly and not in the best of taste: `
` `
` "Yet you seem to be invariably charming to Dr. Bauerstein!" `
` `
` Instantly I regretted my words. Her face stiffened. I had the `
` impression of a steel curtain coming down and blotting out the `
` real woman. Without a word, she turned and went swiftly up the `
` stairs, whilst I stood like an idiot gaping after her. `
` `
` I was recalled to other matters by a frightful row going on `
` below. I could hear Poirot shouting and expounding. I was vexed `
` to think that my diplomacy had been in vain. The little man `
` appeared to be taking the whole house into his confidence, a `
` proceeding of which I, for one, doubted the wisdom. Once again I `
` could not help regretting that my friend was so prone to lose his `
` head in moments of excitement. I stepped briskly down the `
` stairs. The sight of me calmed Poirot almost immediately. I `
` drew him aside. `
` `
` "My dear fellow," I said, "is this wise? Surely you don't want `
` the whole house to know of this occurrence? You are actually `
` playing into the criminal's hands." `
` `
` "You think so, Hastings?" `
` `
` "I am sure of it." `
` `
` "Well, well, my friend, I will be guided by you." `
` `
` "Good. Although, unfortunately, it is a little too late now." `
` `
` "Sure." `
` `
` He looked so crestfallen and abashed that I felt quite sorry, `
` though I still thought my rebuke a just and wise one. `
` `
` "Well," he said at last, "let us go, mon ami." `
` `
` "You have finished here?" `
` `
` "For the moment, yes. You will walk back with me to the `
` village?" `
` `
` "Willingly." `
` `
` He picked up his little suit-case, and we went out through the `
` open window in the drawing-room. Cynthia Murdoch was just coming `
` in, and Poirot stood aside to let her pass. `
` `
` "Excuse me, mademoiselle, one minute." `
` `
` "Yes?" she turned inquiringly. `
` `
` "Did you ever make up Mrs. Inglethorp's medicines?" `
` `
` A slight flush rose in her face, as she answered rather `
` constrainedly: `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` "Only her powders?" `
` `
` The flush deepened as Cynthia replied: `
` `
` "Oh, yes, I did make up some sleeping powders for her once." `
` `
` "These?" `
` `
` Poirot produced the empty box which had contained powders. `
` `
` She nodded. `
` `
` "Can you tell me what they were? Sulphonal? Veronal?" `
` `
` "No, they were bromide powders." `
` `
` "Ah! Thank you, mademoiselle; good morning." `
` `
` As we walked briskly away from the house, I glanced at him more `
` than once. I had often before noticed that, if anything excited `
` him, his eyes turned green like a cat's. They were shining like `
` emeralds now. `
` `
` "My friend," he broke out at last, "I have a little idea, a very `
` strange, and probably utterly impossible idea. And yet--it fits `
` in." `
` `
` I shrugged my shoulders. I privately thought that Poirot was `
` rather too much given to these fantastic ideas. In this case, `
` surely, the truth was only too plain and apparent. `
` `
` "So that is the explanation of the blank label on the box," I `
` remarked. "Very simple, as you said. I really wonder that I did `
` not think of it myself." `
` `
` Poirot did not appear to be listening to me. `
` `
` "They have made one more discovery, la-bas," he observed, jerking `
` his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Styles. "Mr. `
` Wells told me as we were going upstairs." `
` `
` "What was it?" `
` `
` "Locked up in the desk in the boudoir, they found a will of Mrs. `
` Inglethorp's, dated before her marriage, leaving her fortune to `
` Alfred Inglethorp. It must have been made just at the time they `
` were engaged. It came quite as a surprise to Wells--and to John `
` Cavendish also. It was written on one of those printed will `
` forms, and witnessed by two of the servants--not Dorcas." `
` `
` "Did Mr. Inglethorp know of it?" `
` `
` "He says not." `
` `
` "One might take that with a grain of salt," I remarked `
` sceptically. "All these wills are very confusing. Tell me, how `
` did those scribbled words on the envelope help you to discover `
` that a will was made yesterday afternoon?" `
` `
` Poirot smiled. `
` `
` "Mon ami, have you ever, when writing a letter, been arrested by `
` the fact that you did not know how to spell a certain word?" `
` `
` "Yes, often. I suppose every one has." `
` `
` "Exactly. And have you not, in such a case, tried the word once `
` or twice on the edge of the blotting-paper, or a spare scrap of `
` paper, to see if it looked right? Well, that is what Mrs. `
` Inglethorp did. You will notice that the word 'possessed' is `
` spelt first with one 's' and subsequently with two--correctly. To `
` make sure, she had further tried it in a sentence, thus: 'I am `
` possessed.' Now, what did that tell me? It told me that Mrs. `
` Inglethorp had been writing the word 'possessed' that afternoon, `
` and, having the fragment of paper found in the grate fresh in my `
` mind, the possibility of a will--(a document almost certain to `
` contain that word)--occurred to me at once. This possibility was `
` confirmed by a further circumstance. In the general confusion, `
` the boudoir had not been swept that morning, and near the desk `
` were several traces of brown mould and earth. The weather had `
` been perfectly fine for some days, and no ordinary boots would `
` have left such a heavy deposit. `
` `
` "I strolled to the window, and saw at once that the begonia beds `
` had been newly planted. The mould in the beds was exactly `
` similar to that on the floor of the boudoir, and also I learnt `
` from you that they had been planted yesterday afternoon. I was `
` now sure that one, or possibly both of the gardeners--for there `
` were two sets of footprints in the bed--had entered the boudoir, `
` for if Mrs. Inglethorp had merely wished to speak to them she `
` would in all probability have stood at the window, and they would `
` not have come into the room at all. I was now quite convinced `
` that she had made a fresh will, and had called the two gardeners `
` in to witness her signature. Events proved that I was right in `
` my supposition." `
` `
` "That was very ingenious," I could not help admitting. "I must `
` confess that the conclusions I drew from those few scribbled `
` words were quite erroneous." `
` `
` He smiled. `
` `
` "You gave too much rein to your imagination. Imagination is a `
` good servant, and a bad master. The simplest explanation is `
` always the most likely." `
` `
` "Another point--how did you know that the key of the `
` despatch-case had been lost?" `
` `
` "I did not know it. It was a guess that turned out to be `
` correct. You observed that it had a piece of twisted wire `
` through the handle. That suggested to me at once that it had `
` possibly been wrenched off a flimsy key-ring. Now, if it had `
` been lost and recovered, Mrs. Inglethorp would at once have `
` replaced it on her bunch; but on her bunch I found what was `
` obviously the duplicate key, very new and bright, which led me to `
` the hypothesis that somebody else had inserted the original key `
` in the lock of the despatch-case." `
` `
` "Yes," I said, "Alfred Inglethorp, without doubt." `
` `
` Poirot looked at me curiously. `
` `
` "You are very sure of his guilt?" `
` `
` "Well, naturally. Every fresh circumstance seems to establish it `
` more clearly." `
` `
`