The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie (story books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âIn what direction?â
âI really canât remember.â
The Coronerâs face grew graver.
âWere you in company with anyone?â
âNo.â
âDid you meet anyone on your walk?â
âNo.â
âThat is a pity,â said the Coroner dryly. âI am to take it then that you decline to say where you were at the time that Mr. Mace positively recognized you as entering the shop to purchase strychnine?â
âIf you like to take it that way, yes.â
âBe careful, Mr. Inglethorp.â
Poirot was fidgeting nervously.
âSacre!â he murmured. âDoes this imbecile of a man want to be arrested?â
Inglethorp was indeed creating a bad impression. His futile denials would not have convinced a child. The Coroner, however, passed briskly to the next point, and Poirot drew a deep breath of relief.
âYou had a discussion with your wife on Tuesday afternoon?â
âPardon me,â interrupted Alfred Inglethorp, âyou have been misinformed. I had no quarrel with my dear wife. The whole story is absolutely untrue. I was absent from the house the entire afternoon.â
âHave you anyone who can testify to that?â
âYou have my word,â said Inglethorp haughtily.
The Coroner did not trouble to reply.
âThere are two witnesses who will swear to having heard your disagreement with Mrs. Inglethorp.â
âThose witnesses were mistaken.â
I was puzzled. The man spoke with such quiet assurance that I was staggered. I looked at Poirot. There was an expression of exultation on his face which I could not understand. Was he at last convinced of Alfred Inglethorpâs guilt?
âMr. Inglethorp,â said the Coroner, âyou have heard your wifeâs dying words repeated here. Can you explain them in any way?â
âCertainly I can.â
âYou can?â
âIt seems to me very simple. The room was dimly lighted. Dr. Bauerstein is much of my height and build, and, like me, wears a beard. In the dim light, and suffering as she was, my poor wife mistook him for me.â
âAh!â murmured Poirot to himself. âBut it is an idea, that!â
âYou think it is true?â I whispered.
âI do not say that. But it is truly an ingenious supposition.â
âYou read my wifeâs last words as an accusationââInglethorp was continuingââthey were, on the contrary, an appeal to me.â
The Coroner reflected a moment, then he said:
âI believe, Mr. Inglethorp, that you yourself poured out the coffee, and took it to your wife that evening?â
âI poured it out, yes. But I did not take it to her. I meant to do so, but I was told that a friend was at the hall door, so I laid down the coffee on the hall table. When I came through the hall again a few minutes later, it was gone.â
This statement might, or might not, be true, but it did not seem to me to improve matters much for Inglethorp. In any case, he had had ample time to introduce the poison.
At that point, Poirot nudged me gently, indicating two men who were sitting together near the door. One was a little, sharp, dark, ferret-faced man, the other was tall and fair.
I questioned Poirot mutely. He put his lips to my ear.
âDo you know who that little man is?â
I shook my head.
âThat is Detective Inspector James Japp of Scotland YardâJimmy Japp. The other man is from Scotland Yard too. Things are moving quickly, my friend.â
I stared at the two men intently. There was certainly nothing of the policeman about them. I should never have suspected them of being official personages.
I was still staring, when I was startled and recalled by the verdict being given:
âWilful Murder against some person or persons unknown.â
CHAPTER VII.
POIROT PAYS HIS DEBTSAs we came out of the Stylites Arms, Poirot drew me aside by a gentle pressure of the arm. I understood his object. He was waiting for the Scotland Yard men.
In a few moments, they emerged, and Poirot at once stepped forward, and accosted the shorter of the two.
âI fear you do not remember me, Inspector Japp.â
âWhy, if it isnât Mr. Poirot!â cried the Inspector. He turned to the other man. âYouâve heard me speak of Mr. Poirot? It was in 1904 he and I worked togetherâthe Abercrombie forgery caseâyou remember, he was run down in Brussels. Ah, those were great days, moosier. Then, do you remember âBaronâ Altara? There was a pretty rogue for you! He eluded the clutches of half the police in Europe. But we nailed him in Antwerpâthanks to Mr. Poirot here.â
As these friendly reminiscences were being indulged in, I drew nearer, and was introduced to Detective-Inspector Japp, who, in his turn, introduced us both to his companion, Superintendent Summerhaye.
âI need hardly ask what you are doing here, gentlemen,â remarked Poirot.
Japp closed one eye knowingly.
âNo, indeed. Pretty clear case I should say.â
But Poirot answered gravely:
âThere I differ from you.â
âOh, come!â said Summerhaye, opening his lips for the first time. âSurely the whole thing is clear as daylight. The manâs caught red-handed. How he could be such a fool beats me!â
But Japp was looking attentively at Poirot.
âHold your fire, Summerhaye,â he remarked jocularly. âMe and Moosier here have met beforeâand thereâs no manâs judgment Iâd sooner take than his. If Iâm not greatly mistaken, heâs got something up his sleeve. Isnât that so, moosier?â
Poirot smiled.
âI have drawn certain conclusionsâyes.â
Summerhaye was still looking rather sceptical, but Japp continued his scrutiny of Poirot.
âItâs this way,â he said, âso far, weâve only seen the case from the outside. Thatâs where the Yardâs at a disadvantage in a case of this kind, where the murderâs only out, so to speak, after the inquest. A lot depends on being on the spot first thing, and thatâs where Mr. Poirotâs had the start of us. We shouldnât have been here as soon as this even, if it hadnât been for the fact that there was a smart doctor on the spot, who gave us the tip through the Coroner. But youâve been on the spot from the first, and you may have picked up some little hints. From the evidence at the inquest, Mr. Inglethorp murdered his wife as sure as I stand here, and if anyone but you hinted the contrary Iâd laugh in his face. I must say I was surprised the jury didnât bring it in Wilful Murder against him right off. I think they would have, if it hadnât been for the Coronerâhe seemed to be holding them back.â
âPerhaps, though, you have a warrant for his arrest in your pocket now,â suggested Poirot.
A kind of wooden shutter of officialdom came down from Jappâs expressive countenance.
âPerhaps I have, and perhaps I havenât,â he remarked dryly.
Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.
âI am very anxious, Messieurs, that he should not be arrested.â
âI dare say,â observed Summerhaye sarcastically.
Japp was regarding Poirot with comical perplexity.
âCanât you go a little further, Mr. Poirot? A winkâs as good as a nodâfrom you. Youâve been on the spotâand the Yard doesnât want to make any mistakes, you know.â
Poirot nodded gravely.
âThat is exactly what I thought. Well, I will tell you this. Use your warrant: Arrest Mr. Inglethorp. But it will bring you no kudosâthe case against him will be dismissed at once! Comme ca!â And he snapped his fingers expressively.
Jappâs face grew grave, though Summerhaye gave an incredulous snort.
As for me, I was literally dumb with astonishment. I could only conclude that Poirot was mad.
Japp had taken out a handkerchief, and was gently dabbing his brow.
âI darenât do it, Mr. Poirot. Iâd take your word, but thereâs others over me whoâll be asking what the devil I mean by it. Canât you give me a little more to go on?â
Poirot reflected a moment.
âIt can be done,â he said at last. âI admit I do not wish it. It forces my hand. I would have preferred to work in the dark just for the present, but what you say is very justâthe word of a Belgian policeman, whose day is past, is not enough! And Alfred Inglethorp must not be arrested. That I have sworn, as my friend Hastings here knows. See, then, my good Japp, you go at once to Styles?â
âWell, in about half an hour. Weâre seeing the Coroner and the doctor first.â
âGood. Call for me in passingâthe last house in the village. I will go with you. At Styles, Mr. Inglethorp will give you, or if he refusesâas is probableâI will give you such proofs that shall satisfy you that the case against him could not possibly be sustained. Is that a bargain?â
âThatâs a bargain,â said Japp heartily. âAnd, on behalf of the Yard, Iâm much obliged to you, though Iâm bound to confess I canât at present see the faintest possible loop-hole in the evidence, but you always were a marvel! So long, then, moosier.â
The two detectives strode away, Summerhaye with an incredulous grin on his face.
âWell, my friend,â cried Poirot, before I could get in a word, âwhat do you think? Mon Dieu! I had some warm moments in that court; I did not figure to myself that the man would be so pig-headed as to refuse to say anything at all. Decidedly, it was the policy of an imbecile.â
âHâm! There are other explanations besides that of imbecility,â I remarked. âFor, if the case against him is true, how could he defend himself except by silence?â
âWhy, in a thousand ingenious ways,â cried Poirot. âSee; say that it is I who have committed this murder, I can think of seven most plausible stories! Far more convincing than Mr. Inglethorpâs stony denials!â
I could not help laughing.
âMy dear Poirot, I am sure you are capable of thinking of seventy! But, seriously, in spite of what I heard you say to the detectives, you surely cannot still believe in the possibility of Alfred Inglethorpâs innocence?â
âWhy not now as much as before? Nothing has changed.â
âBut the evidence is so conclusive.â
âYes, too conclusive.â
We turned in at the gate of Leastways Cottage, and proceeded up the now familiar stairs.
âYes, yes, too conclusive,â continued Poirot, almost to himself. âReal evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examinedâsifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried. No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly manufacturedâso cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.â
âHow do you make that out?â
âBecause, so long as the evidence against him was vague and intangible, it was very hard to disprove. But, in his anxiety, the criminal has drawn the net so closely that one cut will set Inglethorp free.â
I was silent. And in a minute or two, Poirot continued:
âLet us look at the matter like this. Here is a man, let us say, who sets out to poison his wife. He has lived by his wits as the saying goes. Presumably, therefore, he has some wits. He is not altogether a fool. Well, how does he set about it? He goes boldly to the village chemistâs and purchases strychnine under his own name, with a trumped up story about a dog which is bound to be proved absurd. He does not employ the poison that night. No, he waits until he has had a violent quarrel with her, of which the whole household is cognisant, and which naturally directs their suspicions upon him. He prepares no defenceâno shadow of an alibi, yet he knows the chemistâs assistant must necessarily come forward with the facts. Bah! do not ask me to believe that any man could be so idiotic! Only a lunatic, who wished to commit suicide by causing himself to be hanged, would act so!â
âStillâI do not seeââ I began.
âNeither do I see. I tell you, mon ami,
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