IWho is there who has not felt a sudden startled pang1 at reliving an old experience, or feeling anold emotion?
“I have done this before. .?.?.”
Why do those words always move one so profoundly?
That was the question I asked myself as I sat in the train watching the flat Essex landscapeoutside.
How long ago was it that I had taken this selfsame journey? Had felt (ridiculously) that the bestof life was over for me! Wounded in that war that for me would always be the war—the war thatwas wiped out now by a second and a more desperate war.
It had seemed in 1916 to young Arthur Hastings that he was already old and mature. How littlehad I realized that, for me, life was only then beginning.
I had been journeying, though I did not know it, to meet the man whose influence over me wasto shape and mould my life. Actually, I had been going to stay with my old friend, JohnCavendish, whose mother, recently remarried, had a country house named Styles. A pleasantrenewing of old acquaintanceships, that was all I had thought it, not foreseeing that I was shortlyto plunge2 into all the dark embroilments of a mysterious murder.
It was at Styles that I had met again that strange little man, Hercule Poirot, whom I had firstcome across in Belgium.
How well I remembered my amazement3 when I had seen the limping figure with the largemoustache coming up the village street.
Hercule Poirot! Since those days he had been my dearest friend, his influence had moulded mylife. In company with him, in the hunting down of yet another murderer, I had met my wife, thetruest and sweetest companion any man could have had.
She lay now in Argentine soil, having died as she would have wished, with no long drawn4 outsuffering, or feebleness of old age. But she had left a very lonely and unhappy man behind her.
Ah! If I could go back—live life all over again. If this could have been that day in 1916 when Ifirst travelled to Styles .?.?. What changes had taken place since then! What gaps amongst thefamiliar faces! Styles itself had been sold by the Cavendishes. John Cavendish was dead, thoughhis wife, Mary (that fascinating enigmatical creature), was still alive, living in Devonshire.
Laurence was living with his wife and children in South Africa. Changes—changes everywhere.
But one thing, strangely enough, was the same. I was going to Styles to meet Hercule Poirot.
How stupefied I had been to receive his letter, with its heading Styles Court, Styles, Essex.
I had not seen my old friend for nearly a year. The last time I had seen him I had been shockedand saddened. He was now a very old man, and almost crippled with arthritis5. He had gone toEgypt in the hopes of improving his health, but had returned, so his letter told me, rather worsethan better. Nevertheless, he wrote cheerfully. .?.?.
II
And does it not intrigue6 you, my friend, to see the address from which I write? Itrecalls old memories, does it not? Yes, I am here, at Styles. Figure to yourself, itis now what they call a guest house. Run by one of your so British old Colonels—very “old school tie” and “Poonar.” It is his wife, bien entendu, who makes itpay. She is a good manage, that one, but the tongue like vinegar, and the poorColonel, he suffers much from it. If it were me I would take a hatchet7 to her!
I saw their advertisement in the paper, and the fancy took me to go once againto the place which first was my home in this country. At my age one enjoysreliving the past.
Then figure to yourself, I find here a gentleman, a baronet who is a friend ofthe employer of your daughter. (That phrase it sounds a little like the Frenchexercise, does it not?)
Immediately I conceive a plan. He wishes to induce the Franklins to come herefor the summer. I in my turn will persuade you and we shall be all together, enfamille. It will be most agreeable. Therefore, mon cher Hastings, dépêchez-vous,arrive with the utmost celerity. I have commanded for you a room with bath (it ismodernized now, you comprehend, the dear old Styles) and disputed the pricewith Mrs. Colonel Luttrell until I have made an arrangement très bon marché.
The Franklins and your charming Judith have been here for some days. It is allarranged, so make no histories.
A bient?t,
Yours always, Hercule Poirot
The prospect8 was alluring9, and I fell in with my old friend’s wishes without demur10. I had no tiesand no settled home. Of my children, one boy was in the Navy, the other married and running theranch in the Argentine. My daughter Grace was married to a soldier and was at present in India.
My remaining child, Judith, was the one whom secretly I had always loved best, although I hadnever for one moment understood her. A queer, dark, secretive child, with a passion for keepingher own counsel, which had sometimes affronted11 and distressed12 me. My wife had been moreunderstanding. It was, she assured me, no lack of trust or confidence on Judith’s part, but a kind offierce compulsion. But she, like myself, was sometimes worried about the child. Judith’s feelings,she said, were too intense, too concentrated, and her instinctive14 reserve deprived her of any safetyvalve. She had queer fits of brooding silence and a fierce, almost bitter power of partisanship15. Herbrains were the best of the family and we gladly fell in with her wish for a university education.
She had taken her B.Sc. about a year ago, and had then taken the post of secretary to a doctor whowas engaged in research work connected with tropical disease. His wife was somewhat of aninvalid.
I had occasionally had qualms16 as to whether Judith’s absorption in her work, and devotion toher employer, were not signs that she might be losing her heart, but the businesslike footing oftheir relationship assured me.
Judith was, I believed, fond of me, but she was very undemonstrative by nature, and she wasoften scornful and impatient of what she called my sentimental17 and outworn ideas. I was, frankly,a little nervous of my daughter!
At this point my meditations18 were interrupted by the train drawing up at the station of Styles St.
Mary. That at least had not changed. Time had passed it by. It was still perched up in the midst offields, with apparently19 no reason for existence.
As my taxi passed through the village, though, I realized the passage of years. Styles St. Marywas altered out of all recognition. Petrol stations, a cinema, two more inns and rows of councilhouses.
Presently we turned in at the gate of Styles. Here we seemed to recede20 again from moderntimes. The park was much as I remembered it, but the drive was badly kept and much overgrownwith weeds growing up over the gravel21. We turned a corner and came in view of the house. It wasunaltered from the outside and badly needed a coat of paint.
As on my arrival all those years ago, there was a woman’s figure stooping over one of thegarden beds. My heart missed a beat. Then the figure straightened up and came towards me, and Ilaughed at myself. No greater contrast to the robust22 Evelyn Howard could have been imagined.
This was a frail23 elderly lady, with an abundance of curly white hair, pink cheeks, and a pair ofcold pale blue eyes that were widely at variance24 with the easy geniality25 of her manner, which wasfrankly a shade too gushing26 for my taste.
“It’ll be Captain Hastings now, won’t it?” she demanded. “And me with my hands all over dirtand not able to shake hands. We’re delighted to see you here—the amount we’ve heard about you!
I must introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Luttrell. My husband and I bought this place in a fit of madnessand have been trying to make a paying concern of it. I never thought the day would come when I’dbe a hotel keeper! But I’ll warn you, Captain Hastings, I’m a very businesslike woman. I pile upthe extras all I know how.”
We both laughed as though at an excellent joke, but it occurred to me that what Mrs. Luttrellhad just said was in all probability the literal truth. Behind the veneer27 of her charming old ladymanner, I caught a glimpse of flint-like hardness.
Although Mrs. Luttrell occasionally affected28 a faint brogue, she had no Irish blood. It was amere affectation.
I enquired29 after my friend.
“Ah, poor little M. Poirot. The way he’s been looking forward to your coming. It would melt aheart of stone. Terribly sorry I am for him, suffering the way he does.”
We were walking towards the house and she was peeling off her gardening gloves.
“And your pretty daughter, too,” she went on. “What a lovely girl she is. We all admire hertremendously. But I’m old-fashioned, you know, and it seems to me a shame and a sin that a girllike that, that ought to be going to parties and dancing with young men, should spend her timecutting up rabbits and bending over a microscope all day. Leave that sort of thing to the frumps, Isay.”
“Where is Judith?” I asked. “Is she somewhere about?”
Mrs. Luttrell made what children call “a face.”
“Ah, the poor girl. Sheh’s cooped up in tat studio place down at the bottom of the garden. Dr.
Franklin rents it from me and he’s had it all fitted up. Hutches of guinea pigs he’s got there, thepoor creatures, and mice and rabbits. I’m not sure that I like all this science, Captain Hastings. Ah,here’s my husband.”
Colonel Luttrell had just come round the corner of the house. He was a very tall, attenuated30 oldman, with a cadaverous face, mild blue eyes and a habit of irresolutely31 tugging32 at his little whitemoustache.
He had a vague, rather nervous manner.
“Ah, George, here’s Captain Hastings arrived.”
Colonel Luttrell shook hands. “You came by the five—er—forty, eh?”
“What else should he have come by?” said Mrs. Luttrell sharply. “And what does it matteranyway? Take him up and show him his room, George. And then maybe he’d like to go straight toM. Poirot—or would you rather have tea first?”
I assured her that I did not want tea and would prefer to go and greet my friend.
Colonel Luttrell said, “Right. Come along. I expect—er—they’ll have taken your things upalready—eh, Daisy?”
Mrs. Luttrell said tartly33, “That’s your business, George. I’ve been gardening. I can’t see toeverything.”
“No, no, of course not. I—I’ll see to it, my dear.”
I followed him up the front steps. In the doorway34 we encountered a grey-haired man, slightlybuilt, who was hurrying out with a pair of field glasses. He limped, and had a boyish eager face.
He said, stammering35 slightly: “There’s a pair of n-nesting blackcaps down by the sycamore.”
As we went into the hall, Luttrell said, “That’s Norton. Nice fellow. Crazy about birds.”
In the hall itself, a very big man was standing13 by the table. He had obviously just finishedtelephoning. Looking up he said, “I’d like to hang, draw and quarter all contractors36 and builders.
Never get anything done right, curse ’em.”
His wrath37 was so comical and so rueful, that we both laughed. I felt very attracted at oncetowards the man. He was very good-looking, though a man well over fifty, with a deeply tannedface. He looked as though he had led an out-of-doors life, and he looked, too, the type of man thatis becoming more and more rare, an Englishman of the old school, straightforward38, fond of out-of-doors life, and the kind of man who can command.
I was hardly surprised when Colonel Luttrell introduced him as Sir William Boyd Carrington.
He had been, I knew, Governor of a province in India, where he had been a signal success. He wasalso renowned39 as a first-class shot and big game hunter. The sort of man, I reflected sadly, that weno longer seemed to breed in these degenerate40 days.
“Aha,” he said. “I’m glad to meet in the flesh that famous personage mon ami Hastings.” Helaughed. “The dear old Belgian fellow talks about you a lot, you know. And then, of course, we’vegot your daughter here. She’s a fine girl.”
“I don’t suppose Judith talks about me much,” I said, smiling.
“No, no, far too modern. These girls nowadays always seem embarrassed at having to admit to afather or mother at all.”
“Parents,” I said, “are practically a disgrace.”
He laughed. “Oh, well—I don’t suffer that way. I’ve no children, worse luck. Your Judith is avery good-looking wench, but terribly highbrow. I find it rather alarming.” He picked up thetelephone receiver again. “Hope you don’t mind, Luttrell, if I start damning your exchange to hell.
I’m not a patient man.”
“Do ’em good,” said Luttrell.
He led the way upstairs and I followed him. He took me along the left wing of the house to adoor at the end, and I realized that Poirot had chosen for me the room I had occupied before.
There were changes here. As I walked along the corridor some of the doors were open and I sawthat the old-fashioned large bedrooms had been partitioned off so as to make several smaller ones.
My own room, which had not been large, was unaltered save for the installation of hot and coldwater, and part of it had been partitioned off to make a small bathroom. It was furnished in a cheapmodern style which rather disappointed me. I should have preferred a style more nearlyapproximating to the architecture of the house itself.
My luggage was in my room and the Colonel explained that Poirot’s room was exactly opposite.
He was about to take me there when a sharp cry of “George” echoed up from the hall below.
Colonel Luttrell started like a nervous horse. His hand went to his lips.
“I—I—sure you’re all right? Ring for what you want—”
“George.”
“Coming, my dear, coming.”
He hurried off down the corridor. I stood for a moment looking after him. Then, with my heartbeating slightly faster, I crossed the corridor and rapped on the door of Poirot’s room.
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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arthritis
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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variance
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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attenuated
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irresolutely
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tugging
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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stammering
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contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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