Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Ch.I-VI
"This is a very pleasant meeting for me, Miss Cynthia. This is `
` my old friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years." `
` `
` "Oh, we know Monsieur Poirot," said Cynthia gaily. "But I had no `
` idea he was a friend of yours." `
` `
` "Yes, indeed," said Poirot seriously. "I know Mademoiselle `
` Cynthia. It is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that `
` I am here." Then, as I looked at him inquiringly: "Yes, my `
` friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my `
` countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land. We `
` Belgians will always remember her with gratitude." `
` `
` Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly `
` more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great `
` dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always `
` perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff `
` and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. `
` I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a `
` bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was `
` sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the `
` most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, `
` his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by `
` unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day. `
` `
` He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his `
` fellow Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early `
` date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we `
` drove away. `
` `
` "He's a dear little man," said Cynthia. "I'd no idea you knew `
` him." `
` `
` "You've been entertaining a celebrity unawares," I replied. `
` `
` And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various `
` exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot. `
` `
` We arrived back in a very cheerful mood. As we entered the hall, `
` Mrs. Inglethorp came out of her boudoir. She looked flushed and `
` upset. `
` `
` "Oh, it's you," she said. `
` `
` "Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?" asked Cynthia. `
` `
` "Certainly not," said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply. "What should `
` there be?" Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going `
` into the dining-room, she called to her to bring some stamps into `
` the boudoir. `
` `
` "Yes, m'm." The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: `
` "Don't you think, m'm, you'd better get to bed? You're looking `
` very tired." `
` `
` "Perhaps you're right, Dorcas--yes--no--not now. I've some `
` letters I must finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in `
` my room as I told you?" `
` `
` "Yes, m'm." `
` `
` "Then I'll go to bed directly after supper." `
` `
` She went into the boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her. `
` `
` "Goodness gracious! I wonder what's up?" she said to Lawrence. `
` `
` He did not seem to have heard her, for without a word he turned `
` on his heel and went out of the house. `
` `
` I suggested a quick game of tennis before supper and, Cynthia `
` agreeing, I ran upstairs to fetch my racquet. `
` `
` Mrs. Cavendish was coming down the stairs. It may have been my `
` fancy, but she, too, was looking odd and disturbed. `
` `
` "Had a good walk with Dr. Bauerstein?" I asked, trying to appear `
` as indifferent as I could. `
` `
` "I didn't go," she replied abruptly. "Where is Mrs. Inglethorp?" `
` `
` "In the boudoir." `
` `
` Her hand clenched itself on the banisters, then she seemed to `
` nerve herself for some encounter, and went rapidly past me down `
` the stairs across the hall to the boudoir, the door of which she `
` shut behind her. `
` `
` As I ran out to the tennis court a few moments later, I had to `
` pass the open boudoir window, and was unable to help overhearing `
` the following scrap of dialogue. Mary Cavendish was saying in `
` the voice of a woman desperately controlling herself: `
` `
` "Then you won't show it to me?" `
` `
` To which Mrs. Inglethorp replied: `
` `
` "My dear Mary, it has nothing to do with that matter." `
` `
` "Then show it to me." `
` `
` "I tell you it is not what you imagine. It does not concern you `
` in the least." `
` `
` To which Mary Cavendish replied, with a rising bitterness: `
` `
` "Of course, I might have known you would shield him." `
` `
` Cynthia was waiting for me, and greeted me eagerly with: `
` `
` "I say! There's been the most awful row! I've got it all out of `
` Dorcas." `
` `
` "What kind of a row?" `
` `
` "Between Aunt Emily and _him_. I do hope she's found him out at `
` last!" `
` `
` "Was Dorcas there, then?" `
` `
` "Of course not. She 'happened to be near the door'. It was a `
` real old bust-up. I do wish I knew what it was all about." `
` `
` I thought of Mrs. Raikes's gipsy face, and Evelyn Howard's `
` warnings, but wisely decided to hold my peace, whilst Cynthia `
` exhausted every possible hypothesis, and cheerfully hoped, "Aunt `
` Emily will send him away, and will never speak to him again." `
` `
` I was anxious to get hold of John, but he was nowhere to be seen. `
` Evidently something very momentous had occurred that afternoon. `
` I tried to forget the few words I had overheard; but, do what I `
` would, I could not dismiss them altogether from my mind. What `
` was Mary Cavendish's concern in the matter? `
` `
` Mr. Inglethorp was in the drawing-room when I came down to `
` supper. His face was impassive as ever, and the strange `
` unreality of the man struck me afresh. `
` `
` Mrs. Inglethorp came down last. She still looked agitated, and `
` during the meal there was a somewhat constrained silence. `
` Inglethorp was unusually quiet. As a rule, he surrounded his `
` wife with little attentions, placing a cushion at her back, and `
` altogether playing the part of the devoted husband. Immediately `
` after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp retired to her boudoir again. `
` `
` "Send my coffee in here, Mary," she called. "I've just five `
` minutes to catch the post." `
` `
` Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the `
` drawing-room. Mary Cavendish brought our coffee to us. She `
` seemed excited. `
` `
` "Do you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?" `
` she asked. "Will you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I `
` will pour it out." `
` `
` "Do not trouble, Mary," said Inglethorp. "I will take it to `
` Emily." He poured it out, and went out of the room carrying it `
` carefully. `
` `
` Lawrence followed him, and Mrs. Cavendish sat down by us. `
` `
` We three sat for some time in silence. It was a glorious night, `
` hot and still. Mrs. Cavendish fanned herself gently with a palm `
` leaf. `
` `
` "It's almost too hot," she murmured. "We shall have a `
` thunderstorm." `
` `
` Alas, that these harmonious moments can never endure! My paradise `
` was rudely shattered by the sound of a well known, and heartily `
` disliked, voice in the hall. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein!" exclaimed Cynthia. "What a funny time to `
` come." `
` `
` I glanced jealously at Mary Cavendish, but she seemed quite `
` undisturbed, the delicate pallor of her cheeks did not vary. `
` `
` In a few moments, Alfred Inglethorp had ushered the doctor in, `
` the latter laughing, and protesting that he was in no fit state `
` for a drawing-room. In truth, he presented a sorry spectacle, `
` being literally plastered with mud. `
` `
` "What have you been doing, doctor?" cried Mrs. Cavendish. `
` `
` "I must make my apologies," said the doctor. "I did not really `
` mean to come in, but Mr. Inglethorp insisted." `
` `
` "Well, Bauerstein, you are in a plight," said John, strolling in `
` from the hall. "Have some coffee, and tell us what you have been `
` up to." `
` `
` "Thank you, I will." He laughed rather ruefully, as he described `
` how he had discovered a very rare species of fern in an `
` inaccessible place, and in his efforts to obtain it had lost his `
` footing, and slipped ignominiously into a neighbouring pond. `
` `
` "The sun soon dried me off," he added, "but I'm afraid my `
` appearance is very disreputable." `
` `
`
` my old friend, Monsieur Poirot, whom I have not seen for years." `
` `
` "Oh, we know Monsieur Poirot," said Cynthia gaily. "But I had no `
` idea he was a friend of yours." `
` `
` "Yes, indeed," said Poirot seriously. "I know Mademoiselle `
` Cynthia. It is by the charity of that good Mrs. Inglethorp that `
` I am here." Then, as I looked at him inquiringly: "Yes, my `
` friend, she had kindly extended hospitality to seven of my `
` countrypeople who, alas, are refugees from their native land. We `
` Belgians will always remember her with gratitude." `
` `
` Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly `
` more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great `
` dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always `
` perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff `
` and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. `
` I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a `
` bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was `
` sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the `
` most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, `
` his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by `
` unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day. `
` `
` He pointed out to me the little house inhabited by him and his `
` fellow Belgians, and I promised to go and see him at an early `
` date. Then he raised his hat with a flourish to Cynthia, and we `
` drove away. `
` `
` "He's a dear little man," said Cynthia. "I'd no idea you knew `
` him." `
` `
` "You've been entertaining a celebrity unawares," I replied. `
` `
` And, for the rest of the way home, I recited to them the various `
` exploits and triumphs of Hercule Poirot. `
` `
` We arrived back in a very cheerful mood. As we entered the hall, `
` Mrs. Inglethorp came out of her boudoir. She looked flushed and `
` upset. `
` `
` "Oh, it's you," she said. `
` `
` "Is there anything the matter, Aunt Emily?" asked Cynthia. `
` `
` "Certainly not," said Mrs. Inglethorp sharply. "What should `
` there be?" Then catching sight of Dorcas, the parlourmaid, going `
` into the dining-room, she called to her to bring some stamps into `
` the boudoir. `
` `
` "Yes, m'm." The old servant hesitated, then added diffidently: `
` "Don't you think, m'm, you'd better get to bed? You're looking `
` very tired." `
` `
` "Perhaps you're right, Dorcas--yes--no--not now. I've some `
` letters I must finish by post-time. Have you lighted the fire in `
` my room as I told you?" `
` `
` "Yes, m'm." `
` `
` "Then I'll go to bed directly after supper." `
` `
` She went into the boudoir again, and Cynthia stared after her. `
` `
` "Goodness gracious! I wonder what's up?" she said to Lawrence. `
` `
` He did not seem to have heard her, for without a word he turned `
` on his heel and went out of the house. `
` `
` I suggested a quick game of tennis before supper and, Cynthia `
` agreeing, I ran upstairs to fetch my racquet. `
` `
` Mrs. Cavendish was coming down the stairs. It may have been my `
` fancy, but she, too, was looking odd and disturbed. `
` `
` "Had a good walk with Dr. Bauerstein?" I asked, trying to appear `
` as indifferent as I could. `
` `
` "I didn't go," she replied abruptly. "Where is Mrs. Inglethorp?" `
` `
` "In the boudoir." `
` `
` Her hand clenched itself on the banisters, then she seemed to `
` nerve herself for some encounter, and went rapidly past me down `
` the stairs across the hall to the boudoir, the door of which she `
` shut behind her. `
` `
` As I ran out to the tennis court a few moments later, I had to `
` pass the open boudoir window, and was unable to help overhearing `
` the following scrap of dialogue. Mary Cavendish was saying in `
` the voice of a woman desperately controlling herself: `
` `
` "Then you won't show it to me?" `
` `
` To which Mrs. Inglethorp replied: `
` `
` "My dear Mary, it has nothing to do with that matter." `
` `
` "Then show it to me." `
` `
` "I tell you it is not what you imagine. It does not concern you `
` in the least." `
` `
` To which Mary Cavendish replied, with a rising bitterness: `
` `
` "Of course, I might have known you would shield him." `
` `
` Cynthia was waiting for me, and greeted me eagerly with: `
` `
` "I say! There's been the most awful row! I've got it all out of `
` Dorcas." `
` `
` "What kind of a row?" `
` `
` "Between Aunt Emily and _him_. I do hope she's found him out at `
` last!" `
` `
` "Was Dorcas there, then?" `
` `
` "Of course not. She 'happened to be near the door'. It was a `
` real old bust-up. I do wish I knew what it was all about." `
` `
` I thought of Mrs. Raikes's gipsy face, and Evelyn Howard's `
` warnings, but wisely decided to hold my peace, whilst Cynthia `
` exhausted every possible hypothesis, and cheerfully hoped, "Aunt `
` Emily will send him away, and will never speak to him again." `
` `
` I was anxious to get hold of John, but he was nowhere to be seen. `
` Evidently something very momentous had occurred that afternoon. `
` I tried to forget the few words I had overheard; but, do what I `
` would, I could not dismiss them altogether from my mind. What `
` was Mary Cavendish's concern in the matter? `
` `
` Mr. Inglethorp was in the drawing-room when I came down to `
` supper. His face was impassive as ever, and the strange `
` unreality of the man struck me afresh. `
` `
` Mrs. Inglethorp came down last. She still looked agitated, and `
` during the meal there was a somewhat constrained silence. `
` Inglethorp was unusually quiet. As a rule, he surrounded his `
` wife with little attentions, placing a cushion at her back, and `
` altogether playing the part of the devoted husband. Immediately `
` after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp retired to her boudoir again. `
` `
` "Send my coffee in here, Mary," she called. "I've just five `
` minutes to catch the post." `
` `
` Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the `
` drawing-room. Mary Cavendish brought our coffee to us. She `
` seemed excited. `
` `
` "Do you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?" `
` she asked. "Will you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I `
` will pour it out." `
` `
` "Do not trouble, Mary," said Inglethorp. "I will take it to `
` Emily." He poured it out, and went out of the room carrying it `
` carefully. `
` `
` Lawrence followed him, and Mrs. Cavendish sat down by us. `
` `
` We three sat for some time in silence. It was a glorious night, `
` hot and still. Mrs. Cavendish fanned herself gently with a palm `
` leaf. `
` `
` "It's almost too hot," she murmured. "We shall have a `
` thunderstorm." `
` `
` Alas, that these harmonious moments can never endure! My paradise `
` was rudely shattered by the sound of a well known, and heartily `
` disliked, voice in the hall. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein!" exclaimed Cynthia. "What a funny time to `
` come." `
` `
` I glanced jealously at Mary Cavendish, but she seemed quite `
` undisturbed, the delicate pallor of her cheeks did not vary. `
` `
` In a few moments, Alfred Inglethorp had ushered the doctor in, `
` the latter laughing, and protesting that he was in no fit state `
` for a drawing-room. In truth, he presented a sorry spectacle, `
` being literally plastered with mud. `
` `
` "What have you been doing, doctor?" cried Mrs. Cavendish. `
` `
` "I must make my apologies," said the doctor. "I did not really `
` mean to come in, but Mr. Inglethorp insisted." `
` `
` "Well, Bauerstein, you are in a plight," said John, strolling in `
` from the hall. "Have some coffee, and tell us what you have been `
` up to." `
` `
` "Thank you, I will." He laughed rather ruefully, as he described `
` how he had discovered a very rare species of fern in an `
` inaccessible place, and in his efforts to obtain it had lost his `
` footing, and slipped ignominiously into a neighbouring pond. `
` `
` "The sun soon dried me off," he added, "but I'm afraid my `
` appearance is very disreputable." `
` `
`