36 minute read
The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known at the time as “The Styles Case” has now somewhat subsided. Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which still persist. I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led to my being connected with the affair. I had been invalided home from the Front; and, after spending some months in a rather depressing Convalescent Home, was given a month’s sick leave. Having no near relations or friends, I was trying to make up my mind what to do, when I ran across John Cavendish. I had seen very little of him for some years. Indeed, I had never known him particularly well. He was...
23 minute read
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...
19 minute read
To make this part of my story clear, I append the following plan of the first floor of Styles. The servants’ rooms are reached through the door B. They have no communication with the right wing, where the Inglethorps’ rooms were situated. It seemed to be the middle of the night when I was awakened by Lawrence Cavendish. He had a candle in his hand, and the agitation of his face told me at once that something was seriously wrong. “What’s the matter?” I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying to collect my scattered thoughts. “We are afraid my mother is very ill. She seems to be having some kind of fit. Unfortunately she has locked herself in.” “I’ll come at once.” I sprang out of bed; and, pulling on a dressing-gown, followed Lawrence along the passage and the gallery to the right wing of the house. John Cavendish...
58 minute read
The house which the Belgians occupied in the village was quite close to the park gates. One could save time by taking a narrow path through the long grass, which cut off the detours of the winding drive. So I, accordingly, went that way. I had nearly reached the lodge, when my attention was arrested by the running figure of a man approaching me. It was Mr. Inglethorp. Where had he been? How did he intend to explain his absence? He accosted me eagerly. “My God! This is terrible! My poor wife! I have only just heard.” “Where have you been?” I asked. “Denby kept me late last night. It was one o’clock before we’d finished. Then I found that I’d forgotten the latch-key after all. I didn’t want to arouse the household, so Denby gave me a bed.” “How did you hear the news?” I asked. “Wilkins knocked Denby...
2 hour read
“Where did you find this?” I asked Poirot, in lively curiosity. “In the waste-paper basket. You recognise the handwriting?” “Yes, it is Mrs. Inglethorp’s. But what does it mean?” Poirot shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot say—but it is suggestive.” A wild idea flashed across me. Was it possible that Mrs. Inglethorp’s mind was deranged? Had she some fantastic idea of demoniacal possession? And, if that were so, was it not also possible that she might have taken her own life? I was about to expound these theories to Poirot, when his own words distracted me. “Come,” he said, “now to examine the coffee-cups!” “My dear Poirot! What on earth is the good of that, now that we know about the cocoa?” “Oh, là là! That miserable cocoa!” cried Poirot flippantly. He laughed with apparent enjoyment, raising his arms to heaven in mock despair, in what I could not but consider...
35 minute read
In the interval before the inquest, Poirot was unfailing in his activity. Twice he was closeted with Mr. Wells. He also took long walks into the country. I rather resented his not taking me into his confidence, the more so as I could not in the least guess what he was driving at. It occurred to me that he might have been making inquiries at Raikes’s farm; so, finding him out when I called at Leastways Cottage on Wednesday evening, I walked over there by the fields, hoping to meet him. But there was no sign of him, and I hesitated to go right up to the farm itself. As I walked away, I met an aged rustic, who leered at me cunningly. “You’m from the Hall, bain’t you?” he asked. “Yes. I’m looking for a friend of mine whom I thought might have walked this way.” “A little chap?...
33 minute read
As 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. “I fear you do not remember me, Inspector Japp.” “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Poirot!” cried the Inspector. He turned to the other man. “You’ve heard me speak of Mr. Poirot? It was in 1904 he and I worked together—the Abercrombie forgery case—you remember, he was run down in Brussels. Ah, those were great days, moosier. Then, do you remember ‘Baron’ Altara? There was a pretty rogue for you! He eluded the clutches of half the police in Europe. But we nailed him in Antwerp—thanks to Mr. Poirot here.” As these friendly reminiscences were being indulged in, I drew nearer,...
47 minute read
There was a moment’s stupefied silence. Japp, who was the least surprised of any of us, was the first to speak. “My word,” he cried, “you’re the goods! And no mistake, Mr. Poirot! These witnesses of yours are all right, I suppose?” “ Voilà! I have prepared a list of them—names and addresses. You must see them, of course. But you will find it all right.” “I’m sure of that.” Japp lowered his voice. “I’m much obliged to you. A pretty mare’s nest arresting him would have been.” He turned to Inglethorp. “But, if you’ll excuse me, sir, why couldn’t you say all this at the inquest?” “I will tell you why,” interrupted Poirot. “There was a certain rumour——” “A most malicious and utterly untrue one,” interrupted Alfred Inglethorp in an agitated voice. “And Mr. Inglethorp was anxious to have no scandal revived just at present. Am I right?” “Quite...
37 minute read
I had had no opportunity as yet of passing on Poirot’s message to Lawrence. But now, as I strolled out on the lawn, still nursing a grudge against my friend’s high-handedness, I saw Lawrence on the croquet lawn, aimlessly knocking a couple of very ancient balls about, with a still more ancient mallet. It struck me that it would be a good opportunity to deliver my message. Otherwise, Poirot himself might relieve me of it. It was true that I did not quite gather its purport, but I flattered myself that by Lawrence’s reply, and perhaps a little skillful cross-examination on my part, I should soon perceive its significance. Accordingly I accosted him. “I’ve been looking for you,” I remarked untruthfully. “Have you?” “Yes. The truth is, I’ve got a message for you—from Poirot.” “Yes?” “He told me to wait until I was alone with you,” I said, dropping my...
43 minute read
To my extreme annoyance, Poirot was not in, and the old Belgian who answered my knock informed me that he believed he had gone to London. I was dumbfounded. What on earth could Poirot be doing in London! Was it a sudden decision on his part, or had he already made up his mind when he parted from me a few hours earlier? I retraced my steps to Styles in some annoyance. With Poirot away, I was uncertain how to act. Had he foreseen this arrest? Had he not, in all probability, been the cause of it? Those questions I could not resolve. But in the meantime what was I to do? Should I announce the arrest openly at Styles, or not? Though I did not acknowledge it to myself, the thought of Mary Cavendish was weighing on me. Would it not be a terrible shock to her? For the...
50 minute read
The trial of John Cavendish for the murder of his stepmother took place two months later. Of the intervening weeks I will say little, but my admiration and sympathy went out unfeignedly to Mary Cavendish. She ranged herself passionately on her husband’s side, scorning the mere idea of his guilt, and fought for him tooth and nail. I expressed my admiration to Poirot, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, she is of those women who show at their best in adversity. It brings out all that is sweetest and truest in them. Her pride and her jealousy have——” “Jealousy?” I queried. “Yes. Have you not realized that she is an unusually jealous woman? As I was saying, her pride and jealousy have been laid aside. She thinks of nothing but her husband, and the terrible fate that is hanging over him.” He spoke very feelingly, and I looked at him earnestly,...
32 minute read
Poirot’s abrupt departure had intrigued us all greatly. Sunday morning wore away, and still he did not reappear. But about three o’clock a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside drove us to the window, to see Poirot alighting from a car, accompanied by Japp and Summerhaye. The little man was transformed. He radiated an absurd complacency. He bowed with exaggerated respect to Mary Cavendish. “Madame, I have your permission to hold a little réunion in the salon ? It is necessary for everyone to attend.” Mary smiled sadly. “You know, Monsieur Poirot, that you have carte blanche in every way.” “You are too amiable, madame.” Still beaming, Poirot marshalled us all into the drawing-room, bringing forward chairs as he did so. “Miss Howard—here. Mademoiselle Cynthia. Monsieur Lawrence. The good Dorcas. And Annie. Bien! We must delay our proceedings a few minutes until Mr. Inglethorp arrives. I have sent him a note.”...
38 minute read
“Poirot, you old villain,” I said, “I’ve half a mind to strangle you! What do you mean by deceiving me as you have done?” We were sitting in the library. Several hectic days lay behind us. In the room below, John and Mary were together once more, while Alfred Inglethorp and Miss Howard were in custody. Now at last, I had Poirot to myself, and could relieve my still burning curiosity. Poirot did not answer me for a moment, but at last he said: “I did not deceive you, mon ami . At most, I permitted you to deceive yourself.” “Yes, but why?” “Well, it is difficult to explain. You see, my friend, you have a nature so honest, and a countenance so transparent, that— enfin , to conceal your feelings is impossible! If I had told you my ideas, the very first time you saw Mr. Alfred Inglethorp that...