The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Hercule Poirot 1)

CHAPTER IX. DR. BAUERSTEIN

I HAD had no opportunity as yet of passing on Poirot's message toLawrence. But now, as I strolled out on the lawn, still nursing a grudgeagainst my friend's high-handedness, I saw Lawrence on the croquet lawn,aimlessly knocking a couple of very ancient balls about, with a stillmore 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 didnot quite gather its purport, but I flattered myself that by Lawrence'sreply, and perhaps a little skillful cross-examination on my part, Ishould 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 myvoice significantly, and watching him intently out of the corner ofmy eye. I have always been rather good at what is called, I believe,creating an atmosphere.

"Well?"

There was no change of expression in the dark melancholic face. Had heany idea of what I was about to say?

"This is the message." I dropped my voice still lower. "'Find the extracoffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.'"

"What on earth does he mean?" Lawrence stared at me in quite unaffectedastonishment.

"Don't you know?"

"Not in the least. Do you?"

I was compelled to shake my head.

"What extra coffee-cup?"

"I don't know."

"He'd better ask Dorcas, or one of the maids, if he wants to know aboutcoffee-cups. It's their business, not mine. I don't know anything aboutthe coffee-cups, except that we've got some that are never used, whichare a perfect dream! Old Worcester. You're not a connoisseur, are you,Hastings?"

I shook my head.

"You miss a lot. A really perfect bit of old china--it's pure delight tohandle it, or even to look at it."

"Well, what am I to tell Poirot?"

"Tell him I don't know what he's talking about. It's double Dutch tome."

"All right."

I was moving off towards the house again when he suddenly called meback.

"I say, what was the end of that message? Say it over again, will you?"

"'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Are you sureyou don't know what it means?" I asked him earnestly.

He shook his head.

"No," he said musingly, "I don't. I--I wish I did."

The boom of the gong sounded from the house, and we went in together.Poirot had been asked by John to remain to lunch, and was already seatedat the table.

By tacit consent, all mention of the tragedy was barred. We conversed onthe war, and other outside topics. But after the cheese and biscuits hadbeen handed round, and Dorcas had left the room, Poirot suddenly leantforward to Mrs. Cavendish.

"Pardon me, madame, for recalling unpleasant memories, but I havea little idea"--Poirot's "little ideas" were becoming a perfectbyword--"and would like to ask one or two questions."

"Of me? Certainly."

"You are too amiable, madame. What I want to ask is this: the doorleading into Mrs. Inglethorp's room from that of Mademoiselle Cynthia,it was bolted, you say?"

"Certainly it was bolted," replied Mary Cavendish, rather surprised. "Isaid so at the inquest."

"Bolted?"

"Yes." She looked perplexed.

"I mean," explained Poirot, "you are sure it was bolted, and not merelylocked?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. No, I don't know. I said bolted, meaning thatit was fastened, and I could not open it, but I believe all the doorswere found bolted on the inside."

"Still, as far as you are concerned, the door might equally well havebeen locked?"

"Oh, yes."

"You yourself did not happen to notice, madame, when you entered Mrs.Inglethorp's room, whether that door was bolted or not?"

"I--I believe it was."

"But you did not see it?"

"No. I--never looked."

"But I did," interrupted Lawrence suddenly. "I happened to notice thatit _was_ bolted."

"Ah, that settles it." And Poirot looked crestfallen.

I could not help rejoicing that, for once, one of his "little ideas" hadcome to naught.

After lunch Poirot begged me to accompany him home. I consented ratherstiffly.

"You are annoyed, is it not so?" he asked anxiously, as we walkedthrough the park.

"Not at all," I said coldly.

"That is well. That lifts a great load from my mind."

This was not quite what I had intended. I had hoped that he would haveobserved the stiffness of my manner. Still, the fervour of his wordswent towards the appeasing of my just displeasure. I thawed.

"I gave Lawrence your message," I said.

"And what did he say? He was entirely puzzled?"

"Yes. I am quite sure he had no idea of what you meant."

I had expected Poirot to be disappointed; but, to my surprise, hereplied that that was as he had thought, and that he was very glad. Mypride forbade me to ask any questions.

Poirot switched off on another tack.

"Mademoiselle Cynthia was not at lunch to-day? How was that?"

"She is at the hospital again. She resumed work to-day."

"Ah, she is an industrious little demoiselle. And pretty too. She islike pictures I have seen in Italy. I would rather like to see thatdispensary of hers. Do you think she would show it to me?"

"I am sure she would be delighted. It's an interesting little place."

"Does she go there every day?"

"She has all Wednesdays off, and comes back to lunch on Saturdays. Thoseare her only times off."

"I will remember. Women are doing great work nowadays, and MademoiselleCynthia is clever--oh, yes, she has brains, that little one."

"Yes. I believe she has passed quite a stiff exam."

"Without doubt. After all, it is very responsible work. I suppose theyhave very strong poisons there?"

"Yes, she showed them to us. They are kept locked up in a littlecupboard. I believe they have to be very careful. They always take outthe key before leaving the room."

"Indeed. It is near the window, this cupboard?"

"No, right the other side of the room. Why?"

Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

"I wondered. That is all. Will you come in?"

We had reached the cottage.

"No. I think I'll be getting back. I shall go round the long way throughthe woods."

The woods round Styles were very beautiful. After the walk across theopen park, it was pleasant to saunter lazily through the cool glades.There was hardly a breath of wind, the very chirp of the birds was faintand subdued. I strolled on a little way, and finally flung myself downat the foot of a grand old beech-tree. My thoughts of mankind werekindly and charitable. I even forgave Poirot for his absurd secrecy. Infact, I was at peace with the world. Then I yawned.

I thought about the crime, and it struck me as being very unreal and faroff.

I yawned again.

Probably, I thought, it really never happened. Of course, it was alla bad dream. The truth of the matter was that it was Lawrence who hadmurdered Alfred Inglethorp with a croquet mallet. But it was absurd ofJohn to make such a fuss about it, and to go shouting out: "I tell you Iwon't have it!"

I woke up with a start.

At once I realized that I was in a very awkward predicament. For, abouttwelve feet away from me, John and Mary Cavendish were standingfacing each other, and they were evidently quarrelling. And, quite asevidently, they were unaware of my vicinity, for before I could move orspeak John repeated the words which had aroused me from my dream.

"I tell you, Mary, I won't have it."

Mary's voice came, cool and liquid:

"Have _you_ any right to criticize my actions?"

"It will be the

talk of the village! My mother was only buried onSaturday, and here you are gadding about with the fellow."

"Oh," she shrugged her shoulders, "if it is only village gossip that youmind!"

"But it isn't. I've had enough of the fellow hanging about. He's aPolish Jew, anyway."

"A tinge of Jewish blood is not a bad thing. It leavens the"--she lookedat him--"stolid stupidity of the ordinary Englishman."

Fire in her eyes, ice in her voice. I did not wonder that the blood roseto John's face in a crimson tide.

"Mary!"

"Well?" Her tone did not change.

The pleading died out of his voice.

"Am I to understand that you will continue to see Bauerstein against myexpress wishes?"

"If I choose."

"You defy me?"

"No, but I deny your right to criticize my actions. Have _you_ nofriends of whom I should disapprove?"

John fell back a pace. The colour ebbed slowly from his face.

"What do you mean?" he said, in an unsteady voice.

"You see!" said Mary quietly. "You _do_ see, don't you, that _you_ haveno right to dictate to _me_ as to the choice of my friends?"

John glanced at her pleadingly, a stricken look on his face.

"No right? Have I _no_ right, Mary?" he said unsteadily. He stretchedout his hands. "Mary----"

For a moment, I thought she wavered. A softer expression came over herface, then suddenly she turned almost fiercely away.

"None!"

She was walking away when John sprang after her, and caught her by thearm.

"Mary"--his voice was very quiet now--"are you in love with this fellowBauerstein?"

She hesitated, and suddenly there swept across her face a strangeexpression, old as the hills, yet with something eternally young aboutit. So might some Egyptian sphinx have smiled.

She freed herself quietly from his arm, and spoke over her shoulder.

"Perhaps," she said; and then swiftly passed out of the little glade,leaving John standing there as though he had been turned to stone.

Rather ostentatiously, I stepped forward, crackling some dead brancheswith my feet as I did so. John turned. Luckily, he took it for grantedthat I had only just come upon the scene.

"Hullo, Hastings. Have you seen the little fellow safely back to hiscottage? Quaint little chap! Is he any good, though, really?"

"He was considered one of the finest detectives of his day."

"Oh, well, I suppose there must be something in it, then. What a rottenworld it is, though!"

"You find it so?" I asked.

"Good Lord, yes! There's this terrible business to start with. ScotlandYard men in and out of the house like a jack-in-the-box! Never knowwhere they won't turn up next. Screaming headlines in every paper inthe country--damn all journalists, I say! Do you know there was awhole crowd staring in at the lodge gates this morning. Sort of MadameTussaud's chamber of horrors business that can be seen for nothing.Pretty thick, isn't it?"

"Cheer up, John!" I said soothingly. "It can't last for ever."