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THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES `
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AGATHA CHRISTIE `
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CONTENTS `
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I. I GO TO STYLES `
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II. THE 16TH AND 17TH OF JULY `
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III. THE NIGHT OF THE TRAGEDY `
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IV. POIROT INVESTIGATES `
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V. "IT ISN'T STRYCHNINE, IS IT?" `
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VI. THE INQUEST `
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VII. POIROT PAYS HIS DEBTS `
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VIII. FRESH SUSPICIONS `
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IX. DR. BAUERSTEIN `
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X. THE ARREST `
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XI. THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION `
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XII. THE LAST LINK `
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XIII. POIROT EXPLAINS `
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CHAPTER I. `
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I GO TO STYLES `
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The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known at `
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the time as "The Styles Case" has now somewhat subsided. `
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Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended `
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it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family `
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themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we `
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trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which `
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still persist. `
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I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led to `
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my being connected with the affair. `
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I had been invalided home from the Front; and, after spending `
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some months in a rather depressing Convalescent Home, was given a `
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month's sick leave. Having no near relations or friends, I was `
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trying to make up my mind what to do, when I ran across John `
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Cavendish. I had seen very little of him for some years. `
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Indeed, I had never known him particularly well. He was a good `
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fifteen years my senior, for one thing, though he hardly looked `
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his forty-five years. As a boy, though, I had often stayed at `
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Styles, his mother's place in Essex. `
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We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his inviting `
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me down to Styles to spend my leave there. `
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"The mater will be delighted to see you again--after all those `
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years," he added. `
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"Your mother keeps well?" I asked. `
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"Oh, yes. I suppose you know that she has married again?" `
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I am afraid I showed my surprise rather plainly. Mrs. Cavendish, `
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who had married John's father when he was a widower with two `
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sons, had been a handsome woman of middle-age as I remembered `
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her. She certainly could not be a day less than seventy now. I `
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recalled her as an energetic, autocratic personality, somewhat `
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inclined to charitable and social notoriety, with a fondness for `
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opening bazaars and playing the Lady Bountiful. She was a most `
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generous woman, and possessed a considerable fortune of her own. `
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Their country-place, Styles Court, had been purchased by Mr. `
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Cavendish early in their married life. He had been completely `
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under his wife's ascendancy, so much so that, on dying, he left `
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the place to her for her lifetime, as well as the larger part of `
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his income; an arrangement that was distinctly unfair to his two `
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sons. Their step-mother, however, had always been most generous `
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to them; indeed, they were so young at the time of their father's `
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remarriage that they always thought of her as their own mother. `
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Lawrence, the younger, had been a delicate youth. He had `
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qualified as a doctor but early relinquished the profession of `
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medicine, and lived at home while pursuing literary ambitions; `
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though his verses never had any marked success. `
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John practiced for some time as a barrister, but had finally `
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settled down to the more congenial life of a country squire. He `
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had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at `
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Styles, though I entertained a shrewd suspicion that he would `
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have preferred his mother to increase his allowance, which would `
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have enabled him to have a home of his own. Mrs. Cavendish, `
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however, was a lady who liked to make her own plans, and expected `
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other people to fall in with them, and in this case she certainly `
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had the whip hand, namely: the purse strings. `
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John noticed my surprise at the news of his mother's remarriage `
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and smiled rather ruefully. `
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"Rotten little bounder too!" he said savagely. "I can tell you, `
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Hastings, it's making life jolly difficult for us. As for `
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Evie--you remember Evie?" `
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"No." `
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"Oh, I suppose she was after your time. She's the mater's `
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factotum, companion, Jack of all trades! A great sport--old Evie! `
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Not precisely young and beautiful, but as game as they make `
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them." `
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"You were going to say----?" `
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"Oh, this fellow! He turned up from nowhere, on the pretext of `
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being a second cousin or something of Evie's, though she didn't `
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seem particularly keen to acknowledge the relationship. The `
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fellow is an absolute outsider, anyone can see that. He's got a `
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great black beard, and wears patent leather boots in all `
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weathers! But the mater cottoned to him at once, took him on as `
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secretary--you know how she's always running a hundred `
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societies?" `
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I nodded. `
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"Well, of course the war has turned the hundreds into thousands. `
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No doubt the fellow was very useful to her. But you could have `
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knocked us all down with a feather when, three months ago, she `
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suddenly announced that she and Alfred were engaged! The fellow `
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must be at least twenty years younger than she is! It's simply `
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bare-faced fortune hunting; but there you are--she is her own `
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mistress, and she's married him." `
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"It must be a difficult situation for you all." `
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"Difficult! It's damnable!" `
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Thus it came about that, three days later, I descended from the `
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train at Styles St. Mary, an absurd little station, with no `
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apparent reason for existence, perched up in the midst of green `
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fields and country lanes. John Cavendish was waiting on the `
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platform, and piloted me out to the car. `
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"Got a drop or two of petrol still, you see," he remarked. `
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"Mainly owing to the mater's activities." `
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The village of Styles St. Mary was situated about two miles from `
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the little station, and Styles Court lay a mile the other side of `
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it. It was a still, warm day in early July. As one looked out `
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over the flat Essex country, lying so green and peaceful under `
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the afternoon sun, it seemed almost impossible to believe that, `
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not so very far away, a great war was running its appointed `
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course. I felt I had suddenly strayed into another world. As we `
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turned in at the lodge gates, John said: `
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"I'm afraid you'll find it very quiet down here, Hastings." `
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"My dear fellow, that's just what I want." `
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"Oh, it's pleasant enough if you want to lead the idle life. I `
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drill with the volunteers twice a week, and lend a hand at the `
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farms. My wife works regularly 'on the land'. She is up at five `
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every morning to milk, and keeps at it steadily until lunchtime. `
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It's a jolly good life taking it all round--if it weren't for `
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that fellow Alfred Inglethorp!" He checked the car suddenly, and `
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glanced at his watch. "I wonder if we've time to pick up `
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Cynthia. No, she'll have started from the hospital by now." `
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"Cynthia! That's not your wife?" `
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"No, Cynthia is a protegee of my mother's, the daughter of an old `
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schoolfellow of hers, who married a rascally solicitor. He came `
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a cropper, and the girl was left an orphan and penniless. My `
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mother came to the rescue, and Cynthia has been with us nearly `
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two years now. She works in the Red Cross Hospital at `
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Tadminster, seven miles away." `
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As he spoke the last words, we drew up in front of the fine old `
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house. A lady in a stout tweed skirt, who was bending over a `
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flower bed, straightened herself at our approach. `
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"Hullo, Evie, here's our wounded hero! Mr. Hastings--Miss `
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Howard." `
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Miss Howard shook hands with a hearty, almost painful, grip. I `
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had an impression of very blue eyes in a sunburnt face. She was `
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a pleasant-looking woman of about forty, with a deep voice, `
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almost manly in its stentorian tones, and had a large sensible `
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square body, with feet to match--these last encased in good thick `
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boots. Her conversation, I soon found, was couched in the `
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telegraphic style. `
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"Weeds grow like house afire. Can't keep even with 'em. Shall `
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press you in. Better be careful." `
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"I'm sure I shall be only too delighted to make myself useful," I `
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responded. `
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"Don't say it. Never does. Wish you hadn't later." `
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"You're a cynic, Evie," said John, laughing. "Where's tea `
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