The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie (story books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âYes, I believe they were at it yesterday afternoon. But come inâDorcas is here.â
âEh bien, eh bien! Do not grudge me a momentâs satisfaction of the eye.â
âYes, but this affair is more important.â
âAnd how do you know that these fine begonias are not of equal importance?â
I shrugged my shoulders. There was really no arguing with him if he chose to take that line.
âYou do not agree? But such things have been. Well, we will come in and interview the brave Dorcas.â
Dorcas was standing in the boudoir, her hands folded in front of her, and her grey hair rose in stiff waves under her white cap. She was the very model and picture of a good old-fashioned servant.
In her attitude towards Poirot, she was inclined to be suspicious, but he soon broke down her defences. He drew forward a chair.
âPray be seated, mademoiselle.â
âThank you, sir.â
âYou have been with your mistress many years, is it not so?â
âTen years, sir.â
âThat is a long time, and very faithful service. You were much attached to her, were you not?â
âShe was a very good mistress to me, sir.â
âThen you will not object to answering a few questions. I put them to you with Mr. Cavendishâs full approval.â
âOh, certainly, sir.â
âThen I will begin by asking you about the events of yesterday afternoon. Your mistress had a quarrel?â
âYes, sir. But I donât know that I oughtâ-â Dorcas hesitated. Poirot looked at her keenly.
âMy good Dorcas, it is necessary that I should know every detail of that quarrel as fully as possible. Do not think that you are betraying your mistressâs secrets. Your mistress lies dead, and it is necessary that we should know allâif we are to avenge her. Nothing can bring her back to life, but we do hope, if there has been foul play, to bring the murderer to justice.â
âAmen to that,â said Dorcas fiercely. âAnd, naming no names, thereâs one in this house that none of us could ever abide! And an ill day it was when first he darkened the threshold.â
Poirot waited for her indignation to subside, and then, resuming his business-like tone, he asked:
âNow, as to this quarrel? What is the first you heard of it?â
âWell, sir, I happened to be going along the hall outside yesterdayâ-â
âWhat time was that?â
âI couldnât say exactly, sir, but it wasnât tea-time by a long way. Perhaps four oâclockâor it may have been a bit later. Well, sir, as I said, I happened to be passing along, when I heard voices very loud and angry in here. I didnât exactly mean to listen, butâwell, there it is. I stopped. The door was shut, but the mistress was speaking very sharp and clear, and I heard what she said quite plainly. âYou have lied to me, and deceived me,â she said. I didnât hear what Mr. Inglethorp replied. He spoke a good bit lower than she didâbut she answered: âHow dare you? I have kept you and clothed you and fed you! You owe everything to me! And this is how you repay me! By bringing disgrace upon our name!â Again I didnât hear what he said, but she went on: âNothing that you can say will make any difference. I see my duty clearly. My mind is made up. You need not think that any fear of publicity, or scandal between husband and wife will deter me.â Then I thought I heard them coming out, so I went off quickly.â
âYou are sure it was Mr. Inglethorpâs voice you heard?â
âOh, yes, sir, whose elseâs could it be?â
âWell, what happened next?â
âLater, I came back to the hall; but it was all quiet. At five oâclock, Mrs. Inglethorp rang the bell and told me to bring her a cup of teaânothing to eatâto the boudoir. She was looking dreadfulâso white and upset. âDorcas,â she says, âIâve had a great shock.â âIâm sorry for that, mâm,â I says. âYouâll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea, mâm.â She had something in her hand. I donât know if it was a letter, or just a piece of paper, but it had writing on it, and she kept staring at it, almost as if she couldnât believe what was written there. She whispered to herself, as though she had forgotten I was there: âThese few wordsâand everythingâs changed.â And then she says to me: âNever trust a man, Dorcas, theyâre not worth it!â I hurried off, and got her a good strong cup of tea, and she thanked me, and said sheâd feel better when sheâd drunk it. âI donât know what to do,â she says. âScandal between husband and wife is a dreadful thing, Dorcas. Iâd rather hush it up if I could.â Mrs. Cavendish came in just then, so she didnât say any more.â
âShe still had the letter, or whatever it was, in her hand?â âYes, sir.â
âWhat would she be likely to do with it afterwards?â
âWell, I donât know, sir, I expect she would lock it up in that purple case of hers.â
âIs that where she usually kept important papers?â
âYes, sir. She brought it down with her every morning, and took it up every night.â
âWhen did she lose the key of it?â
âShe missed it yesterday at lunchtime, sir, and told me to look carefully for it. She was very much put out about it.â
âBut she had a duplicate key?â
âOh, yes, sir.â
Dorcas was looking very curiously at him and, to tell the truth, so was I. What was all this about a lost key? Poirot smiled.
âNever mind, Dorcas, it is my business to know things. Is this the key that was lost?â He drew from his pocket the key that he had found in the lock of the despatch-case upstairs.
Dorcasâs eyes looked as though they would pop out of her head.
âThatâs it, sir, right enough. But where did you find it? I looked everywhere for it.â
âAh, but you see it was not in the same place yesterday as it was to-day. Now, to pass to another subject, had your mistress a dark green dress in her wardrobe?â
Dorcas was rather startled by the unexpected question.
âNo, sir.â
âAre you quite sure?â
âOh, yes, sir.â
âHas anyone else in the house got a green dress?â
Dorcas reflected.
âMiss Cynthia has a green evening dress.â
âLight or dark green?â
âA light green, sir; a sort of chiffon, they call it.â
âAh, that is not what I want. And nobody else has anything green?â
âNo, sirânot that I know of.â
Poirotâs face did not betray a trace of whether he was disappointed or otherwise. He merely remarked:
âGood, we will leave that and pass on. Have you any reason to believe that your mistress was likely to take a sleeping powder last night?â
âNot last night, sir, I know she didnât.â
âWhy do you know so positively?â
âBecause the box was empty. She took the last one two days ago, and she didnât have any more made up.â
âYou are quite sure of that?â
âPositive, sir.â
âThen that is cleared up! By the way, your mistress didnât ask you to sign any paper yesterday?â
âTo sign a paper? No, sir.â
âWhen Mr. Hastings and Mr. Lawrence came in yesterday evening, they found your mistress busy writing letters. I suppose you can give me no idea to whom these letters were addressed?â
âIâm afraid I couldnât, sir. I was out in the evening. Perhaps Annie could tell you, though sheâs a careless girl. Never cleared the coffee-cups away last night. Thatâs what happens when Iâm not here to look after things.â
Poirot lifted his hand.
âSince they have been left, Dorcas, leave them a little longer, I pray you. I should like to examine them.â
âVery well, sir.â
âWhat time did you go out last evening?â
âAbout six oâclock, sir.â
âThank you, Dorcas, that is all I have to ask you.â He rose and strolled to the window. âI have been admiring these flower beds. How many gardeners are employed here, by the way?â
âOnly three now, sir. Five, we had, before the war, when it was kept as a gentlemanâs place should be. I wish you could have seen it then, sir. A fair sight it was. But now thereâs only old Manning, and young William, and a new-fashioned woman gardener in breeches and such-like. Ah, these are dreadful times!â
âThe good times will come again, Dorcas. At least, we hope so. Now, will you send Annie to me here?â
âYes, sir. Thank you, sir.â
âHow did you know that Mrs. Inglethorp took sleeping powders?â I asked, in lively curiosity, as Dorcas left the room. âAnd about the lost key and the duplicate?â
âOne thing at a time. As to the sleeping powders, I knew by this.â He suddenly produced a small cardboard box, such as chemists use for powders.
âWhere did you find it?â
âIn the wash-stand drawer in Mrs. Inglethorpâs bedroom. It was Number Six of my catalogue.â
âBut I suppose, as the last powder was taken two days ago, it is not of much importance?â
âProbably not, but do you notice anything that strikes you as peculiar about this box?â
I examined it closely.
âNo, I canât say that I do.â
âLook at the label.â
I read the label carefully: â âOne powder to be taken at bedtime, if required. Mrs. Inglethorp.â No, I see nothing unusual.â
âNot the fact that there is no chemistâs name?â
âAh!â I exclaimed. âTo be sure, that is odd!â
âHave you ever known a chemist to send out a box like that, without his printed name?â
âNo, I canât say that I have.â
I was becoming quite excited, but Poirot damped my ardour by remarking:
âYet the explanation is quite simple. So do not intrigue yourself, my friend.â
An audible creaking proclaimed the approach of Annie, so I had no time to reply.
Annie was a fine, strapping girl, and was evidently labouring under intense excitement, mingled with a certain ghoulish enjoyment of the tragedy.
Poirot came to the point at once, with a business-like briskness.
âI sent for you, Annie, because I thought you might be able to tell me something about the letters Mrs. Inglethorp wrote last night. How many were there? And can you tell me any of the names and addresses?â
Annie considered.
âThere were four letters, sir. One was to Miss Howard, and one was to Mr. Wells, the lawyer, and the other two I donât think I remember, sirâoh, yes, one was to Rossâs, the caterers in Tadminster. The other one, I donât remember.â
âThink,â urged Poirot.
Annie racked her brains in vain.
âIâm sorry, sir, but itâs clean gone. I donât think I can have noticed it.â
âIt does not matter,â said Poirot, not betraying any sign of disappointment. âNow I want to ask you about something else. There is a saucepan in Mrs. Inglethorpâs room with some coco in it. Did she have that every night?â
âYes, sir, it was put in her room every evening, and she warmed it up in the nightâwhenever she fancied it.â
âWhat was it? Plain coco?â
âYes, sir, made with milk, with a teaspoonful of sugar, and two teaspoonfuls of rum in it.â
âWho took it to her room?â
âI did, sir.â
âAlways?â
âYes, sir.â
âAt what time?â
âWhen I went to draw the curtains, as a rule, sir.â
âDid you bring it straight up from the kitchen then?â
âNo, sir, you see thereâs not much room on the gas stove, so Cook used to make it early, before putting the vegetables on for supper. Then I used to bring it up, and put it on
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