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Agatha Christie
The Mysterious Affair at Styles 02
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CHAPTER II.

THE 16TH AND 17TH OF JULY


I had arrived at Styles on the 5th of July. I come now to the
events of the 16th and 17th of that month. For the convenience
of the reader I will recapitulate the incidents of those days in
as exact a manner as possible. They were elicited subsequently
at the trial by a process of long and tedious cross-examinations.

I received a letter from Evelyn Howard a couple of days after her
departure, telling me she was working as a nurse at the big
hospital in Middlingham, a manufacturing town some fifteen miles
away, and begging me to let her know if Mrs. Inglethorp should
show any wish to be reconciled.

The only fly in the ointment of my peaceful days was Mrs.
Cavendish's extraordinary, and, for my part, unaccountable
preference for the society of Dr. Bauerstein. What she saw in
the man I cannot imagine, but she was always asking him up to the
house, and often went off for long expeditions with him. I must
confess that I was quite unable to see his attraction.

The 16th of July fell on a Monday. It was a day of turmoil. The
famous bazaar had taken place on Saturday, and an entertainment,
in connection with the same charity, at which Mrs. Inglethorp was
to recite a War poem, was to be held that night. We were all
busy during the morning arranging and decorating the Hall in the
village where it was to take place. We had a late luncheon and
spent the afternoon resting in the garden. I noticed that John's
manner was somewhat unusual. He seemed very excited and
restless.

After tea, Mrs. Inglethorp went to lie down to rest before her
efforts in the evening and I challenged Mary Cavendish to a
single at tennis.

About a quarter to seven, Mrs. Inglethorp called us that we
should be late as supper was early that night. We had rather a
scramble to get ready in time; and before the meal was over the
motor was waiting at the door.

The entertainment was a great success, Mrs. Inglethorp's
recitation receiving tremendous applause. There were also some
tableaux in which Cynthia took part. She did not return with us,
having been asked to a supper party, and to remain the night with
some friends who had been acting with her in the tableaux.

The following morning, Mrs. Inglethorp stayed in bed to
breakfast, as she was rather overtired; but she appeared in her
briskest mood about 12.30, and swept Lawrence and myself off to a
luncheon party.

"Such a charming invitation from Mrs. Rolleston. Lady
Tadminster's sister, you know. The Rollestons came over with the
Conqueror--one of our oldest families."

Mary had excused herself on the plea of an engagement with Dr.
Bauerstein.

We had a pleasant luncheon, and as we drove away Lawrence
suggested that we should return by Tadminster, which was barely a
mile out of our way, and pay a visit to Cynthia in her
dispensary. Mrs. Inglethorp replied that this was an excellent
idea, but as she had several letters to write she would drop us
there, and we could come back with Cynthia in the pony-trap.

We were detained under suspicion by the hospital porter, until
Cynthia appeared to vouch for us, looking very cool and sweet in
her long white overall. She took us up to her sanctum, and
introduced us to her fellow dispenser, a rather awe-inspiring
individual, whom Cynthia cheerily addressed as "Nibs."

"What a lot of bottles!" I exclaimed, as my eye travelled round
the small room. "Do you really know what's in them all?"

"Say something original," groaned Cynthia. "Every single person
who comes up here says that. We are really thinking of bestowing
a prize on the first individual who does _not_ say: 'What a lot of
bottles!' And I know the next thing you're going to say is: 'How
many people have you poisoned?' "

I pleaded guilty with a laugh.

"If you people only knew how fatally easy it is to poison some
one by mistake, you wouldn't joke about it. Come on, let's have
tea. We've got all sorts of secret stories in that cupboard.
No, Lawrence--that's the poison cupboard. The big
cupboard--that's right."

We had a very cheery tea, and assisted Cynthia to wash up
afterwards. We had just put away the last tea-spoon when a knock
came at the door. The countenances of Cynthia and Nibs were
suddenly petrified into a stern and forbidding expression.

"Come in," said Cynthia, in a sharp professional tone.

A young and rather scared looking nurse appeared with a bottle
which she proffered to Nibs, who waved her towards Cynthia with
the somewhat enigmatical remark:

"_I_'m not really here to-day."

Cynthia took the bottle and examined it with the severity of a
judge.

"This should have been sent up this morning."

"Sister is very sorry. She forgot."

"Sister should read the rules outside the door."

I gathered from the little nurse's expression that there was not
the least likelihood of her having the hardihood to retail this
message to the dreaded "Sister".

"So now it can't be done until to-morrow," finished Cynthia.

"Don't you think you could possibly let us have it to-night?"

"Well," said Cynthia graciously, "we are very busy, but if we
have time it shall be done."

The little nurse withdrew, and Cynthia promptly took a jar from
the shelf, refilled the bottle, and placed it on the table
outside the door.

I laughed.

"Discipline must be maintained?"

"Exactly. Come out on our little balcony. You can see all the
outside wards there."

I followed Cynthia and her friend and they pointed out the
different wards to me. Lawrence remained behind, but after a few
moments Cynthia called to him over her shoulder to come and join
us. Then she looked at her watch.

"Nothing more to do, Nibs?"

"No."

"All right. Then we can lock up and go."

I had seen Lawrence in quite a different light that afternoon.
Compared to John, he was an astoundingly difficult person to get
to know. He was the opposite of his brother in almost every
respect, being unusually shy and reserved. Yet he had a certain
charm of manner, and I fancied that, if one really knew him well,
one could have a deep affection for him. I had always fancied
that his manner to Cynthia was rather constrained, and that she
on her side was inclined to be shy of him. But they were both
gay enough this afternoon, and chatted together like a couple of
children.

As we drove through the village, I remembered that I wanted some
stamps, so accordingly we pulled up at the post office.

As I came out again, I cannoned into a little man who was just
entering. I drew aside and apologised, when suddenly, with a
loud exclamation, he clasped me in his arms and kissed me warmly.

"Mon ami Hastings!" he cried. "It is indeed mon ami Hastings!"

"Poirot!" I exclaimed.

I turned to the pony-trap.

"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."

At this juncture, Mrs. Inglethorp called to Cynthia from the
hall, and the girl ran out.

"Just carry up my despatch-case, will you, dear? I'm going to
bed."

The door into the hall was a wide one. I had risen when Cynthia
did, John was close by me. There were therefore three witnesses
who could swear that Mrs. Inglethorp was carrying her coffee, as
yet untasted, in her hand.

My evening was utterly and entirely spoilt by the presence of Dr.
Bauerstein. It seemed to me the man would never go. He rose at
last, however, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll walk down to the village with you," said Mr. Inglethorp.
"I must see our agent over those estate accounts." He turned to
John. "No one need sit up. I will take the latch-key."


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