Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Ch.I-VI
had overheard, of the former quarrel between Mrs. Inglethorp and `
` Evelyn Howard, and of the latter's innuendoes. `
` `
` I was hardly as clear as I could wish. I repeated myself several `
` times, and occasionally had to go back to some detail that I had `
` forgotten. Poirot smiled kindly on me. `
` `
` "The mind is confused? Is it not so? Take time, mon ami. You are `
` agitated; you are excited--it is but natural. Presently, when we `
` are calmer, we will arrange the facts, neatly, each in his proper `
` place. We will examine--and reject. Those of importance we will `
` put on one side; those of no importance, pouf!"--he screwed up `
` his cherub-like face, and puffed comically enough--"blow them `
` away!" `
` `
` "That's all very well," I objected, "but how are you going to `
` decide what is important, and what isn't? That always seems the `
` difficulty to me." `
` `
` Poirot shook his head energetically. He was now arranging his `
` moustache with exquisite care. `
` `
` "Not so. Voyons! One fact leads to another--so we continue. `
` Does the next fit in with that? A merveille! Good! We can `
` proceed. This next little fact--no! Ah, that is curious! There `
` is something missing--a link in the chain that is not there. We `
` examine. We search. And that little curious fact, that possibly `
` paltry little detail that will not tally, we put it here!" He `
` made an extravagant gesture with his hand. "It is significant! `
` It is tremendous!" `
` `
` "Y--es--" `
` `
` "Ah!" Poirot shook his forefinger so fiercely at me that I `
` quailed before it. "Beware! Peril to the detective who says: 'It `
` is so small--it does not matter. It will not agree. I will `
` forget it.' That way lies confusion! Everything matters." `
` `
` "I know. You always told me that. That's why I have gone into `
` all the details of this thing whether they seemed to me relevant `
` or not." `
` `
` "And I am pleased with you. You have a good memory, and you have `
` given me the facts faithfully. Of the order in which you present `
` them, I say nothing--truly, it is deplorable! But I make `
` allowances--you are upset. To that I attribute the circumstance `
` that you have omitted one fact of paramount importance." `
` `
` "What is that?" I asked. `
` `
` "You have not told me if Mrs. Inglethorp ate well last night." `
` `
` I stared at him. Surely the war had affected the little man's `
` brain. He was carefully engaged in brushing his coat before `
` putting it on, and seemed wholly engrossed in the task. `
` `
` "I don't remember," I said. "And, anyway, I don't see----" `
` `
` "You do not see? But it is of the first importance." `
` `
` "I can't see why," I said, rather nettled. "As far as I can `
` remember, she didn't eat much. She was obviously upset, and it `
` had taken her appetite away. That was only natural." `
` `
` "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "it was only natural." `
` `
` He opened a drawer, and took out a small despatch-case, then `
` turned to me. `
` `
` "Now I am ready. We will proceed to the chateau, and study `
` matters on the spot. Excuse me, mon ami, you dressed in haste, `
` and your tie is on one side. Permit me." With a deft gesture, he `
` rearranged it. `
` `
` "Ca y est! Now, shall we start?" `
` `
` We hurried up the village, and turned in at the lodge gates. `
` Poirot stopped for a moment, and gazed sorrowfully over the `
` beautiful expanse of park, still glittering with morning dew. `
` `
` "So beautiful, so beautiful, and yet, the poor family, plunged in `
` sorrow, prostrated with grief." `
` `
` He looked at me keenly as he spoke, and I was aware that I `
` reddened under his prolonged gaze. `
` `
` Was the family prostrated by grief? Was the sorrow at Mrs. `
` Inglethorp's death so great? I realized that there was an `
` emotional lack in the atmosphere. The dead woman had not the `
` gift of commanding love. Her death was a shock and a distress, `
` but she would not be passionately regretted. `
` `
` Poirot seemed to follow my thoughts. He nodded his head gravely. `
` `
` "No, you are right," he said, "it is not as though there was a `
` blood tie. She has been kind and generous to these Cavendishes, `
` but she was not their own mother. Blood tells--always remember `
` that--blood tells." `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "I wish you would tell me why you wanted to `
` know if Mrs. Inglethorp ate well last night? I have been turning `
` it over in my mind, but I can't see how it has anything to do `
` with the matter?" `
` `
` He was silent for a minute or two as we walked along, but finally `
` he said: `
` `
` "I do not mind telling you--though, as you know, it is not my `
` habit to explain until the end is reached. The present `
` contention is that Mrs. Inglethorp died of strychnine poisoning, `
` presumably administered in her coffee." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "Well, what time was the coffee served?" `
` `
` "About eight o'clock." `
` `
` "Therefore she drank it between then and half-past eight-- `
` certainly not much later. Well, strychnine is a fairly rapid `
` poison. Its effects would be felt very soon, probably in about `
` an hour. Yet, in Mrs. Inglethorp's case, the symptoms do not `
` manifest themselves until five o'clock the next morning: nine `
` hours! But a heavy meal, taken at about the same time as the `
` poison, might retard its effects, though hardly to that extent. `
` Still, it is a possibility to be taken into account. But, `
` according to you, she ate very little for supper, and yet the `
` symptoms do not develop until early the next morning! Now that is `
` a curious circumstance, my friend. Something may arise at the `
` autopsy to explain it. In the meantime, remember it." `
` `
` As we neared the house, John came out and met us. His face `
` looked weary and haggard. `
` `
` "This is a very dreadful business, Monsieur Poirot," he said. `
` "Hastings has explained to you that we are anxious for no `
` publicity?" `
` `
` "I comprehend perfectly." `
` `
` "You see, it is only suspicion so far. We have nothing to go `
` upon." `
` `
` "Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only." `
` `
` John turned to me, taking out his cigarette-case, and lighting a `
` cigarette as he did so. `
` `
` "You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?" `
` `
` "Yes. I met him." `
` `
` John flung the match into an adjacent flower bed, a proceeding `
` which was too much for Poirot's feelings. He retrieved it, and `
` buried it neatly. `
` `
` "It's jolly difficult to know how to treat him." `
` `
` "That difficulty will not exist long," pronounced Poirot quietly. `
` `
` John looked puzzled, not quite understanding the portent of this `
` cryptic saying. He handed the two keys which Dr. Bauerstein had `
` given him to me. `
` `
` "Show Monsieur Poirot everything he wants to see." `
` `
` "The rooms are locked?" asked Poirot. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein considered it advisable." `
` `
` Poirot nodded thoughtfully. `
` `
` "Then he is very sure. Well, that simplifies matters for us." `
` `
` We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience `
` I append a plan of the room and the principal articles of `
` furniture in it. `
` `
` Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute `
` inspection of the room. He darted from one object to the other `
` with the agility of a grasshopper. I remained by the door, `
` fearing to obliterate any clues. Poirot, however, did not seem `
` grateful to me for my forbearance. `
` `
` "What have you, my friend," he cried, "that you remain there `
` like--how do you say it?--ah, yes, the stuck pig?" `
` `
` I explained that I was afraid of obliterating any foot-marks. `
` `
` "Foot-marks? But what an idea! There has already been practically `
` an army in the room! What foot-marks are we likely to find? No, `
` come here and aid me in my search. I will put down my little `
` case until I need it." `
` `
` He did so, on the round table by the window, but it was an `
` ill-advised proceeding; for, the top of it being loose, it tilted `
` up, and precipitated the despatch-case on the floor. `
` `
` "Eh voila une table!" cried Poirot. "Ah, my friend, one may live `
` in a big house and yet have no comfort." `
` `
`
` Evelyn Howard, and of the latter's innuendoes. `
` `
` I was hardly as clear as I could wish. I repeated myself several `
` times, and occasionally had to go back to some detail that I had `
` forgotten. Poirot smiled kindly on me. `
` `
` "The mind is confused? Is it not so? Take time, mon ami. You are `
` agitated; you are excited--it is but natural. Presently, when we `
` are calmer, we will arrange the facts, neatly, each in his proper `
` place. We will examine--and reject. Those of importance we will `
` put on one side; those of no importance, pouf!"--he screwed up `
` his cherub-like face, and puffed comically enough--"blow them `
` away!" `
` `
` "That's all very well," I objected, "but how are you going to `
` decide what is important, and what isn't? That always seems the `
` difficulty to me." `
` `
` Poirot shook his head energetically. He was now arranging his `
` moustache with exquisite care. `
` `
` "Not so. Voyons! One fact leads to another--so we continue. `
` Does the next fit in with that? A merveille! Good! We can `
` proceed. This next little fact--no! Ah, that is curious! There `
` is something missing--a link in the chain that is not there. We `
` examine. We search. And that little curious fact, that possibly `
` paltry little detail that will not tally, we put it here!" He `
` made an extravagant gesture with his hand. "It is significant! `
` It is tremendous!" `
` `
` "Y--es--" `
` `
` "Ah!" Poirot shook his forefinger so fiercely at me that I `
` quailed before it. "Beware! Peril to the detective who says: 'It `
` is so small--it does not matter. It will not agree. I will `
` forget it.' That way lies confusion! Everything matters." `
` `
` "I know. You always told me that. That's why I have gone into `
` all the details of this thing whether they seemed to me relevant `
` or not." `
` `
` "And I am pleased with you. You have a good memory, and you have `
` given me the facts faithfully. Of the order in which you present `
` them, I say nothing--truly, it is deplorable! But I make `
` allowances--you are upset. To that I attribute the circumstance `
` that you have omitted one fact of paramount importance." `
` `
` "What is that?" I asked. `
` `
` "You have not told me if Mrs. Inglethorp ate well last night." `
` `
` I stared at him. Surely the war had affected the little man's `
` brain. He was carefully engaged in brushing his coat before `
` putting it on, and seemed wholly engrossed in the task. `
` `
` "I don't remember," I said. "And, anyway, I don't see----" `
` `
` "You do not see? But it is of the first importance." `
` `
` "I can't see why," I said, rather nettled. "As far as I can `
` remember, she didn't eat much. She was obviously upset, and it `
` had taken her appetite away. That was only natural." `
` `
` "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "it was only natural." `
` `
` He opened a drawer, and took out a small despatch-case, then `
` turned to me. `
` `
` "Now I am ready. We will proceed to the chateau, and study `
` matters on the spot. Excuse me, mon ami, you dressed in haste, `
` and your tie is on one side. Permit me." With a deft gesture, he `
` rearranged it. `
` `
` "Ca y est! Now, shall we start?" `
` `
` We hurried up the village, and turned in at the lodge gates. `
` Poirot stopped for a moment, and gazed sorrowfully over the `
` beautiful expanse of park, still glittering with morning dew. `
` `
` "So beautiful, so beautiful, and yet, the poor family, plunged in `
` sorrow, prostrated with grief." `
` `
` He looked at me keenly as he spoke, and I was aware that I `
` reddened under his prolonged gaze. `
` `
` Was the family prostrated by grief? Was the sorrow at Mrs. `
` Inglethorp's death so great? I realized that there was an `
` emotional lack in the atmosphere. The dead woman had not the `
` gift of commanding love. Her death was a shock and a distress, `
` but she would not be passionately regretted. `
` `
` Poirot seemed to follow my thoughts. He nodded his head gravely. `
` `
` "No, you are right," he said, "it is not as though there was a `
` blood tie. She has been kind and generous to these Cavendishes, `
` but she was not their own mother. Blood tells--always remember `
` that--blood tells." `
` `
` "Poirot," I said, "I wish you would tell me why you wanted to `
` know if Mrs. Inglethorp ate well last night? I have been turning `
` it over in my mind, but I can't see how it has anything to do `
` with the matter?" `
` `
` He was silent for a minute or two as we walked along, but finally `
` he said: `
` `
` "I do not mind telling you--though, as you know, it is not my `
` habit to explain until the end is reached. The present `
` contention is that Mrs. Inglethorp died of strychnine poisoning, `
` presumably administered in her coffee." `
` `
` "Yes?" `
` `
` "Well, what time was the coffee served?" `
` `
` "About eight o'clock." `
` `
` "Therefore she drank it between then and half-past eight-- `
` certainly not much later. Well, strychnine is a fairly rapid `
` poison. Its effects would be felt very soon, probably in about `
` an hour. Yet, in Mrs. Inglethorp's case, the symptoms do not `
` manifest themselves until five o'clock the next morning: nine `
` hours! But a heavy meal, taken at about the same time as the `
` poison, might retard its effects, though hardly to that extent. `
` Still, it is a possibility to be taken into account. But, `
` according to you, she ate very little for supper, and yet the `
` symptoms do not develop until early the next morning! Now that is `
` a curious circumstance, my friend. Something may arise at the `
` autopsy to explain it. In the meantime, remember it." `
` `
` As we neared the house, John came out and met us. His face `
` looked weary and haggard. `
` `
` "This is a very dreadful business, Monsieur Poirot," he said. `
` "Hastings has explained to you that we are anxious for no `
` publicity?" `
` `
` "I comprehend perfectly." `
` `
` "You see, it is only suspicion so far. We have nothing to go `
` upon." `
` `
` "Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only." `
` `
` John turned to me, taking out his cigarette-case, and lighting a `
` cigarette as he did so. `
` `
` "You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?" `
` `
` "Yes. I met him." `
` `
` John flung the match into an adjacent flower bed, a proceeding `
` which was too much for Poirot's feelings. He retrieved it, and `
` buried it neatly. `
` `
` "It's jolly difficult to know how to treat him." `
` `
` "That difficulty will not exist long," pronounced Poirot quietly. `
` `
` John looked puzzled, not quite understanding the portent of this `
` cryptic saying. He handed the two keys which Dr. Bauerstein had `
` given him to me. `
` `
` "Show Monsieur Poirot everything he wants to see." `
` `
` "The rooms are locked?" asked Poirot. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein considered it advisable." `
` `
` Poirot nodded thoughtfully. `
` `
` "Then he is very sure. Well, that simplifies matters for us." `
` `
` We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience `
` I append a plan of the room and the principal articles of `
` furniture in it. `
` `
` Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute `
` inspection of the room. He darted from one object to the other `
` with the agility of a grasshopper. I remained by the door, `
` fearing to obliterate any clues. Poirot, however, did not seem `
` grateful to me for my forbearance. `
` `
` "What have you, my friend," he cried, "that you remain there `
` like--how do you say it?--ah, yes, the stuck pig?" `
` `
` I explained that I was afraid of obliterating any foot-marks. `
` `
` "Foot-marks? But what an idea! There has already been practically `
` an army in the room! What foot-marks are we likely to find? No, `
` come here and aid me in my search. I will put down my little `
` case until I need it." `
` `
` He did so, on the round table by the window, but it was an `
` ill-advised proceeding; for, the top of it being loose, it tilted `
` up, and precipitated the despatch-case on the floor. `
` `
` "Eh voila une table!" cried Poirot. "Ah, my friend, one may live `
` in a big house and yet have no comfort." `
` `
`