Free The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie Page B

will.
     The contents of that will we shall never know. She told no one of its provisions. This
     morning, no doubt, she would have consulted me on the subject - but she had no chance. The
     will disappears, and she takes its secret with her to her grave. Cavendish, I much fear
     there is no coincidence there. Monsieur Poirot, I am sure you agree with me that the facts
     are very suggestive.”
    “Suggestive, or not,” interrupted John, “we are most grateful to Monsieur Poirot for
     elucidating the matter. But for him, we should never have known of this will. I suppose, I
     may not ask you, monsieur, what first led you to suspect the fact?”
    Poirot smiled and answered: “A scribbled-over old envelope, and a freshly planted bed of
     begonias.”
    John, I think, would have pressed his questions further, but at that moment the loud purr
     of a motor was audible, and we all turned to the window as it swept past.
    “Evie!” cried John. “Excuse me, Wells.” He went hurriedly out into the hall.
    Poirot looked inquiringly at me. “Miss Howard,” I explained.
    “Ah, I am glad she has come. There is a woman with a head and a heart too, Hastings.
     Though the good God gave her no beauty!”
    I followed John's example, and went out into the hall, where Miss Howard was endeavouring
     to extricate herself from the voluminous mass of veils that enveloped her head. As her
     eyes fell on me, a sudden pang of guilt shot through me. This was the woman who had warned
     me so earnestly, and to whose warning I had, alas, paid no heed! How soon, and how
     contemptuously, I had dismissed it from my mind. Now that she had been proved justified in
     so tragic a manner, I felt ashamed. She had known Alfred Inglethorp only too well. I
     wondered whether, if she had remained at Styles, the tragedy would have taken place, or
     would the man have feared her watchful eyes?
    I was relieved when she shook me by the hand, with her well remembered painful grip. The
     eyes that met mine were sad, but not reproachful; that she had been crying bitterly, I
     could tell by the redness of her eyelids, but her manner was unchanged from its old
     gruffness.
    “Started the moment I got the wire. Just come off night duty. Hired car. Quickest way to
     get here.”
    “Have you had anything to eat this morning, Evie?” asked John.
    “No.”
    “I thought not. Come along, breakfast's not cleared away yet, and they'll make you some
     fresh tea.” He turned to me. “Look after her, Hastings, will you? Wells is waiting for me.
     Oh, here's Monsieur Poirot. He's helping us, you know, Evie.”
    Miss Howard shook hands with Poirot, but glanced suspiciously over her shoulder at John.
    “What do you mean - helping us?”
    “Helping us to investigate.”
    “Nothing to investigate. Have they taken him to prison yet?”
    “Taken who to prison?”
    “Who? Alfred Inglethorp, of course!”
    “My dear Evie, do be careful. Lawrence is of the opinion that my mother died from heart
     seizure.”
    “More fool, Lawrence!” retorted Miss Howard. “Of course Alfred Inglethorp murdered poor
     Emily - as I always told you he would.”
    “My dear Evie, don't shout so. Whatever we may think or suspect, it is better to say as
     little as possible for the present. The inquest isn't until Friday.”
    “Not until fiddlesticks!” The snort Miss Howard gave was truly magnificent. “You're all
     off your heads. The man will be out of the country by then. If he's any sense, he won't
     stay here tamely and wait to be hanged.”
    John Cavendish looked at her helplessly.
    “I know what it is,” she accused him, “you've been listening to the doctors. Never should.
     What do they know? Nothing at all - or just enough to make them dangerous. I ought to know
     - my own father was a doctor. That little Wilkins is about the greatest fool that even I
     have ever seen. Heart seizure! Sort of thing he would say. Anyone with any sense could see
     at once