IMy narrative1 of the days spent at Styles must necessarily be somewhat rambling2. In myrecollection of it, it presents itself to me as a series of conversations—of suggestive words andphrases that etched themselves into my consciousness.
First of all, and very early on, there came the realization3 of Hercule Poirot’s infirmity andhelplessness. I did believe, as he had said, that his brain still functioned with all its old keenness,but the physical envelope had worn so thin that I realized at once that my part was destined4 to be afar more active one than usual. I had to be, as it were, Poirot’s eyes and ears.
True, every fine day Curtiss would pick up his master and carry him carefully downstairs towhere his chair had been carried down beforehand and was awaiting him. Then he would wheelPoirot out into the garden and select a spot that was free of draughts5. On other days, when theweather was not propitious6, he would be carried to the drawing room.
Wherever he might be, someone or other was sure to come and sit with him and talk, but thiswas not the same thing as if Poirot could have selected for himself his partner in the tête-à-tête. Hecould no longer single out the person he wanted to talk to.
On the day after my arrival I was taken by Franklin to an old studio in the garden which hadbeen fitted up in a rough and ready fashion for scientific purposes.
Let me make clear here and now that I myself have not got the scientific mind. In my account ofDr. Franklin’s work I shall probably use all the wrong terms and arouse the scorn of those properlyinstructed in such matters.
As far as I, a mere7 layman8, could make out, Franklin was experimenting with various alkaloidsderived from the Calabar bean, Physostigma venenosum. I understood more after a conversationwhich took place one day between Franklin and Poirot. Judith, who tried to instruct me, was, as iscustomary with the earnest young, almost impossibly technical. She referred learnedly to thealkaloids physostigmine, eserine, physoveine and geneserine, and then proceeded to a mostimpossible sounding substance, prostigmin or the demethylcarbonic ester of 3 hydroxypheyltrimethyl lammonum, etc. etc., and a good deal more which, it appeared, was the same thing, onlydifferently arrived at! It was all, at any rate, double Dutch to me, and I aroused Judith’s contemptby asking what good all this was likely to do mankind? There is no question that annoys your truescientist more. Judith at once threw me a scornful glance and embarked9 on another lengthy10 andlearned explanation. The upshot of it was, so I gathered, that certain obscure tribes of WestAfrican natives had shown a remarkable11 immunity12 to an equally obscure, though deadly diseasecalled, as far as I remember, Jordanitis—a certain enthusiastic Dr. Jordan having originally trackedit down. It was an extremely rare tropical ailment13, which had been, on one or two occasions,contracted by white people, with fatal results.
I risked inflaming14 Judith’s rage by remarking that it would be more sensible to find some drugthat would counteract15 the after-effects of measles16!
With pity and scorn Judith made it clear to me that it was not the benefaction of the human race,but the enlargement of human knowledge, that was the only goal worthy17 of attainment18.
I looked at some slides through the microscope, studied some photographs of West Africannatives (really quite entertaining!), caught the eye of a soporific rat in a cage and hurried out againinto the air.
As I say, any interest I could feel was kindled19 by Franklin’s conversation with Poirot.
He said: “You know, Poirot, the stuff’s really more up your street than mine. It’s the ordeal20 bean—supposed to prove innocence21 or guilt22. These West African tribes believe it implicitly—or did doso—they’re getting sophisticated nowadays. They’ll solemnly chew it up quite confident that itwill kill them if they’re guilty and not harm them if they’re innocent.”
“And so, alas23, they die?”
“No, they don’t all die. That’s what has always been overlooked up to now. There’s a lot behindthe whole thing—a medicine man ramp24, I rather fancy. There are two distinct species of this bean—only they look so much alike that you can hardly spot the difference. But there is a difference.
They both contain physostigmine and geneserine and the rest of it, but in the second species youcan isolate25, or I think I can, yet another alkaloid—and the action of that alkaloid neutralizes26 theeffect of the others. What’s more that second species is regularly eaten by a kind of inner ring in asecret ritual—and the people who eat it never go down with Jordanitis. This third substance has aremarkable effect on the muscular system—without deleterious effects. It’s damned interesting.
Unfortunately the pure alkaloid is very unstable27. Still, I’m getting results. But what’s wanted is alot more research out there on the spot. It’s work that ought to be done! Yes, by heck it is .?.?. I’dsell my soul to—” He broke off abruptly28. The grin came again. “Forgive the shop. I get too het upover these things!”
“As you say,” said Poirot placidly29, “it would certainly make my profession much easier if Icould test guilt and innocence so easily. Ah, if there were a substance that could do what isclaimed for the Calabar bean.”
Franklin said: “Ah, but your troubles wouldn’t end there. After all, what is guilt or innocence?”
“I shouldn’t think there could be any doubt about that,” I remarked.
He turned to me. “What is evil? What is good? Ideas on them vary from century to century.
What you would be testing would probably be a sense of guilt or a sense of innocence. In fact novalue as a test at all.”
“I don’t see how you make that out.”
“My dear fellow, suppose a man thinks he has a divine right to kill a dictator or a moneylenderor a pimp or whatever arouses his moral indignation. He commits what you consider a guilty deed—but what he considers is an innocent one. What is your poor ordeal bean to do about it?”
“Surely,” I said, “there must always be a feeling of guilt with murder?”
“Lots of people I’d like to kill,” said Dr. Franklin cheerfully. “Don’t believe my consciencewould keep me awake at night afterwards. It’s an idea of mine, you know, that about eightypercent of the human race ought to be eliminated. We’d get on much better without them.”
He got up and strolled away, whistling cheerfully to himself.
I looked after him doubtfully. A low chuckle30 from Poirot recalled me.
“You look, my friend, like one who has envisaged31 a nest of serpents. Let us hope that our friendthe doctor does not practise what he preaches.”
“Ah,” I said. “But supposing he does?”
II
After some hesitations33 I decided34 that I ought to sound Judith on the subject of Allerton. I felt that Imust know what her reactions were. She was, I knew, a levelheaded girl, well able to take care ofherself, and I did not think that she would really be taken in by the cheap attraction of a man likeAllerton. I suppose, actually, that I tackled her on the subject because I wanted to be reassured35 onthat point.
Unfortunately, I did not get what I wanted .?.?. I went about it clumsily, I daresay. There isnothing that young people resent so much as advice from their elders. I tried to make my wordsquite careless and debonair36. I suppose that I failed.
Judith bristled37 at once.
“What’s this?” she said. “A paternal38 warning against the big bad wolf?”
“No, no, Judith, of course not.”
“I gather you don’t like Major Allerton?”
“Frankly, I don’t. Actually, I don’t suppose you do either.”
“Why not?”
“Well—er—he isn’t your type, is he?”
“What do you consider is my type, Father?”
Judith can always flurry me. I boggled rather badly. She stood looking at me, her mouth curvingupwards in a slightly scornful smile.
“Of course you don’t like him,” she said. “I do. I think he’s very amusing.”
“Oh, amusing—perhaps.” I endeavoured to pass it off.
Judith said deliberately39: “He’s very attractive. Any woman would think so. Men, of course,wouldn’t see it.”
“They certainly wouldn’t.” I went on, rather clumsily: “You were out with him very late theother night—”
I was not allowed to finish. The storm broke.
“Really, Father, you’re being too idiotic40. Don’t you realize that at my age I’m capable ofmanaging my own affairs? You’ve no earthly right to control what I do or whom I choose to makea friend of. It’s this senseless interfering41 in their children’s lives that is so infuriating about fathersand mothers. I’m very fond of you—but I’m an adult woman and my life is my own. Don’t startmaking a Mr. Barrett of yourself.”
I was so hurt by this extremely unkind remark that I was quite incapable42 of replying, and Judithwent quickly away.
I was left with the dismayed feeling that I had done more harm than good.
I was standing43 lost in my thoughts when I was roused by the voice of Mrs. Franklin’s nurseexclaiming archly: “A penny for your thoughts, Captain Hastings!”
I turned gladly to welcome the interruption.
Nurse Craven was really a very good-looking young woman. Her manner was, perhaps, a littleon the arch and sprightly44 side, but she was pleasant and intelligent.
She had just come from establishing her patient in a sunny spot not far from the improvisedlaboratory.
“Is Mrs. Franklin interested in her husband’s work?” I asked.
Nurse Craven tossed her head contemptuously. “Oh, it’s a good deal too technical for her. She’snot at all a clever woman, you know, Captain Hastings.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Dr. Franklin’s work, of course, can only be appreciated by someone who knows somethingabout medicine. He’s a very clever man indeed, you know. Brilliant. Poor man, I feel so sorry forhim.”
“Sorry for him?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it happen so often. Marrying the wrong type of woman, I mean.”
“You think she’s the wrong type for him?”
“Well, don’t you? They’ve nothing at all in common.”
“He seems very fond of her,” I said. “Very attentive45 to her wishes and all that.”
Nurse Craven laughed rather disagreeably. “She sees to that all right!”
“You think she trades on her—on her ill health?” I asked doubtfully.
Nurse Craven laughed. “There isn’t much you could teach her about getting her own way.
Whatever her ladyship wants happens. Some women are like that — clever as a barrelful ofmonkeys. If anyone opposes them they just lie back and shut their eyes and look ill and pathetic,or else they have a nerve storm—but Mrs. Franklin’s the pathetic type. Doesn’t sleep all night andis all white and exhausted46 in the morning.”
“But she is really an invalid47, isn’t she?” I asked, rather startled.
Nurse Craven gave me a rather peculiar48 glance. She said drily: “Oh, of course,” and then turnedthe subject rather abruptly.
She asked me if it was true that I had been here long ago, in the first war.
“Yes, that’s quite true.”
She lowered her voice. “There was a murder here, wasn’t there? So one of the maids was tellingme. An old lady?”
“Yes.”
“And you were here at the time?”
“I was.”
She gave a slight shiver. She said: “That explains it, doesn’t it?”
“Explains what?”
She gave me a quick sideways glance. “The—the atmosphere of the place. Don’t you feel it? Ido. Something wrong, if you know what I mean?”
I was silent a moment considering. Was it true what she had just said? Did the fact that death byviolence—by malice49 aforethought—had taken place in a certain spot leave its impression on thatspot so strongly that it was perceptible after many years? Psychic50 people said so. Did Stylesdefinitely bear traces of that event that had occurred so long ago? Here, within these walls, in thesegardens, thoughts of murder had lingered and grown stronger and had at last come to fruition inthe final act. Did they still taint51 the air?
Nurse Craven broke in on my thoughts by saying abruptly: “I was in a house where there was amurder case once. I’ve never forgotten it. One doesn’t, you know. One of my patients. I had togive evidence and everything. Made me feel quite queer. It’s a nasty experience for a girl.”
“It must be. I know myself—”
I broke off as Boyd Carrington came striding round the corner of the house.
As usual, his big, buoyant personality seemed to sweep away shadows and intangible worries.
He was so large, so sane52, so out-of-doors—one of those lovable, forceful personalities53 that radiatecheerfulness and common sense.
“Morning, Hastings, morning, Nurse. Where’s Mrs. Franklin?”
“Good morning, Sir William. Mrs. Franklin’s down at the bottom of the garden under the beechtree near the laboratory.”
“And Franklin, I suppose, is inside the laboratory?”
“Yes, Sir William—with Miss Hastings.”
“Wretched girl. Fancy being cooped up doing stinks54 on a morning like this! You ought toprotest, Hastings.”
Nurse Craven said quickly: “Oh, Miss Hastings is quite happy. She likes it, you know, and thedoctor couldn’t do without her, I’m sure.”
“Miserable fellow,” said Boyd Carrington. “If I had a pretty girl like your Judith as a secretary,I’d be looking at her instead of at guinea pigs, eh, what?”
It was the kind of joke that Judith would particularly have disliked but it went down quite wellwith Nurse Craven who laughed a good deal.
“Oh, Sir William,” she exclaimed. “You really mustn’t say things like that. I’m sure we allknow what you’d be like! But poor Dr. Franklin is so serious—quite wrapped up in his work.”
Boyd Carrington said cheerfully: “Well, his wife seems to have taken up her position where shecan keep her eye on her husband. I believe she’s jealous.”
“You know far too much, Sir William!”
Nurse Craven seemed delighted with this badinage55. She said reluctantly: “Well, I suppose Iought to be going to see about Mrs. Franklin’s malted milk.”
She moved away slowly and Boyd Carrington stood looking after her.
“Good-looking girl,” he remarked. “Lovely hair and teeth. Fine specimen56 of womanhood. Mustbe a dull life on the whole always looking after sick people. A girl like that deserves a better fate.”
“Oh, well,” I said. “I suppose she’ll marry one day.”
“I expect so.”
He sighed—and it occurred to me that he was thinking of his dead wife. Then he said: “Like tocome over with me to Knatton and see the place?”
“Rather. I’d like to. I’ll just see first if Poirot needs me.”
I found Poirot sitting on the veranda57, well muffled58 up. He encouraged me to go.
“But certainly go, Hastings, go. It is, I believe, a most handsome property. You should certainlysee it.”
“I’d like to. But I didn’t want to desert you.”
“My faithful friend! No, no, go with Sir William. A charming man, is he not?”
“First-class,” I said with enthusiasm.
Poirot smiled. “Ah yes. I thought he was your type.”
III
I enjoyed my expedition enormously.
Not only was the weather fine — a really lovely summer’s day — but I enjoyed thecompanionship of the man.
Boyd Carrington had that personal magnetism59, that wide experience of life and of places thatmade him excellent company. He told me stories of his administrative60 days in India, someintriguing details of East African tribal61 lore62, and was altogether so interesting that I was quitetaken out of myself and forgot my worries about Judith and the deep anxieties that Poirot’srevelations had given me.
I liked, too, the way Boyd Carrington spoke63 of my friend. He had a deep respect for him—bothfor his work and his character. Sad though his present condition of ill health was, Boyd Carringtonuttered no facile words of pity. He seemed to think that a lifetime spent as Poirot’s had been wasin itself a rich reward and that in his memories my friend could find satisfaction and self-respect.
“Moreover,” he said, “I’d wager64 his brain is as keen as ever it was.”
“It is, indeed it is,” I assented65 eagerly.
“No greater mistake than to think that because a man’s tied by the leg it affects his brain pan.
Not a bit of it. Anno Domini affects head work much less than you’d think. By Jove, I wouldn’tcare to undertake to commit a murder under Hercule Poirot’s nose—even at this time of day.”
“He’d get you if you did,” I said grinning.
“I bet he would. Not,” he added ruefully, “that I should be much good at doing a murderanyway. I can’t plan things, you know. Too impatient. If I did a murder it would be done on thespur of the moment.”
“That might be the most difficult crime to spot.”
“I hardly think so. I’d probably leave clues trailing along behind me in every direction. Well,it’s lucky I haven’t got a criminal mind. Only kind of man I can imagine myself killing66 is ablackmailer. That is a foul68 thing if you like. I’ve always thought a blackmailer67 ought to be shot.
What do you say?”
I confessed to some sympathy with his point of view.
Then we passed on to an examination of the work done on the house as a young architect cameforward to meet us.
Knatton was mainly of Tudor date with a wing added later. It had not been modernized69 oraltered since the installation of two primitive70 bathrooms in the eighteen forties or thereabouts.
Boyd Carrington explained that his uncle had been more or less of a hermit71, disliking peopleand living in a corner of the vast house. Boyd Carrington and his brother had been tolerated, andhad spent their holidays there as schoolboys before Sir Everard had become as much of a recluseas he afterwards became.
The old man had never married, and had spent only a tenth of his large income, so that evenafter death duties had been paid, the present baronet had found himself a very rich man.
“But a very lonely one,” he said sighing.
I was silent. My sympathy was too acute to be put into words. For I, too, was a lonely man.
Since Cinders72 had died, I felt myself to be only half a human being.
Presently, a little haltingly, I expressed a little of what I felt.
“Ah yes, Hastings, but you’ve had something I never had.”
He paused a moment and then—rather jerkily—he gave me an outline of his own tragedy.
Of the beautiful young wife, a lovely creature full of charm and accomplishments73 but with atainted heritage. Her family had nearly all died of drink, and she herself fell victim to the samecurse. Barely a year after their marriage she had succumbed74 and had died a dipsomaniac’s death.
He did not blame her. He realized that heredity had been too strong for her.
After her death he had settled down to lead a lonely life. He had determined75, saddened by hisexperience, not to marry again.
“One feels,” he said simply, “safer alone.”
“Yes, I can understand your feeling like that—at any rate at first.”
“The whole thing was such a tragedy. It left me prematurely76 aged32 and embittered77.” He paused.
“It’s true—I was once very much tempted78. But she was so young—I didn’t feel it would be fair totie her to a disillusioned79 man. I was too old for her—she was such a child—so pretty—socompletely untouched.”
He broke off, shaking his head.
“Wasn’t that for her to judge?”
“I don’t know, Hastings. I thought not. She—she seemed to like me. But then, as I say, she wasso young. I shall always remember her as I saw her the last day of that leave. Her head a little onone side—that slightly bewildered look—her little hand—”
He stopped. The words conjured80 up a picture that seemed vaguely81 familiar, though I could notthink why.
Boyd Carrington’s voice, suddenly harsh, broke into my thoughts.
“I was a fool,” he said. “Any man is a fool who lets opportunity slip by him. Anyway, here Iam, with a great mansion82 of a house far too big for me, and no gracious presence to set at the headof my table.”
To me there was a charm in his slightly old-fashioned way of putting things. It conjured up apicture of old world charm and ease.
“Where is the lady now?” I asked.
“Oh—married.” He turned it off briefly83. “Fact is, Hastings, I’m cut out now for a bachelorexistence. I’ve got my little ways. Come and look at the gardens. They’ve been badly neglected,but they’re very fine in their way.”
We walked round the place and I was much impressed with all I saw. Knatton was undoubtedlya very fine estate and I did not wonder that Boyd Carrington was proud of it. He knew theneighbourhood well and most of the people round about, though of course there had beennewcomers since his time.
He had known Colonel Luttrell in the old days and expressed his earnest hope that the Stylesventure was going to pay.
“Poor old Toby Luttrell’s very hard up, you know,” he said. “Nice fellow. Good soldier, too,and a very fine shot. Went on safari84 with him in Africa once. Ah, those were the days! He wasmarried then, of course, but his missus didn’t come along, thank goodness. Pretty woman she was—but always a bit of a Tartar. Funny the things a man will stand from a woman. Old Toby Luttrellwho used to make subalterns shake in their shoes, he was such a stern martinet85! And there he is,henpecked and bullied86 and meek87 as they make ’em! No doubt about it, that woman’s got a tonguelike vinegar. Still, she’s got a head on her. If anyone can make the place pay, she will. Luttrellnever had much of a head for business—but Mrs. Toby would skin her grandmother!”
“She’s so gushing88 with it all,” I complained.
Boyd Carrington looked amused. “I know. All sweetness. But have you played bridge withthem?”
I replied feelingly that I had.
“On the whole I steer89 clear of women bridge players,” said Boyd Carrington. “And if you takemy tip you’ll do the same.”
I told him how uncomfortable Norton and myself had felt on the first evening of my arrival.
“Exactly. One doesn’t know where to look!” He added: “Nice fellow, Norton. Very quiet,though. Always looking at birds and things. Doesn’t care for shooting them, he told me.
Extraordinary! No feeling for sport. I told him he missed a lot. Can’t see myself what excitementthere can be stalking about through cold woods peering at birds through glasses.”
How little we realized that Norton’s hobby might have an important part to play in the eventsthat were to come.
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narrative
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rambling
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realization
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destined
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draughts
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propitious
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mere
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layman
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embarked
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lengthy
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remarkable
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immunity
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ailment
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inflaming
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counteract
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measles
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worthy
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kindled
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ordeal
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innocence
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guilt
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alas
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ramp
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isolate
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neutralizes
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unstable
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abruptly
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placidly
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chuckle
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envisaged
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aged
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hesitations
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decided
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reassured
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debonair
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bristled
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paternal
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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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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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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modernized
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| 使现代化，使适应现代需要( modernize的过去式和过去分词 )； 现代化，使用现代方法 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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82
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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84
safari
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| n.远征旅行(探险、考察)；探险队，狩猎队 | |
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85
martinet
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| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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86
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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88
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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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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